


Why Did You Kiss Me?

by dance_tilyouredead



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Ancient curses, Badass guns blazing Clarke, Bookworm Lexa, Egypt 1926, F/F, Lexa and her knife could be a relationship tag too, Some sneaky Octaven too, Tumblr Prompt that no one asked for., count them, four kick ass women, hand holding, i have photoshop, i need to me gifs, ladies saving the world, someone remind me to make gifs, theres art too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3938134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_tilyouredead/pseuds/dance_tilyouredead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa gasps at the alcohol burn and tucks the whiskey bottle back into the crook of Octavia’s arm. ‘You’re wondering, what is a place like me doing, in a girl like this?’</p><p>Clarke agrees. ‘Yeah, something like that.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassiniregio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiniregio/gifts).



> So this came from some tags on a gif set; Emclainable on Tumblr is a wonderful artist who should be widely admired and not just for the wonderful tag usage. This is an AU that has no excuses.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 100/The Mummy AU which I'm having too much fun with. You don't need to have seen the movie at all.

**1926, Cairo. Egypt.**

Lexa didn't come all the way from England to be a librarian, she’s an archaeologist and a scholar. And Octavia has brought her a very convincing reason to walk away.

‘Octavia, you found something,’ she’d assured her and no matter what Dr Kane said, Lexa knew she had found something incredible.

The small golden box opened in eight points revealing a map to what could be the most important archeological find in recent history.  

If only Octavia had procured it under better circumstances.

Lexa pulls Octavia closer as they pass through the gates into the noisy dirty prison. ’You told me you found it in a dig down in Thebes. You lied to me.’ 

‘Well lying is a part of what I do.’ Octavia fights against Lexa’s hold on her arm. 

Lexa just grips her more tightly following the ripe smelling warden into the sunny prison yard. ‘I am your sister—‘

‘By technicality,’ Octavia interrupts, stepping gingerly over some horse droppings.

‘By blood or by paperwork, I am your sister which means you should have told me the truth. That you acquired it from a criminal drunkard.’ 

‘No,’ Octavia insists. ‘Your being my sister just means you’re more gullible. And I didn’t acquire it, I picked her pocket which is exactly why we should leave this awful place and go get a drink instead.’ 

‘Don’t even think about it.’ Lexa grips onto her arm tighter, steering them both after their guide and toward the row of man-sized cages at the back of the prison yard. Everything around them is dusty and yellowed, likely staining the white of her skirt. But Lexa won’t be deterred. This find could be the breakthrough of her career and she won’t be held back by foul smells and dangerous looking criminals. ‘What did she do?’ Lexa asks their guide.

‘This I do not know,’ the warden speaks in an accent likely exaggerated for visitors like themselves. He guides them to an empty cell set into the wall with a door at the back. ‘But when I heard that you were coming, I asked her that myself.’

‘And what did she say?’ Lexa is curious to know how a girl, in Cairo, in possession of such an extraordinarily valuable artefact could end up locked in a place like this.

‘She said, she was looking for a good time.’ Their guide is leaning against the bars of the cages but he steps back as the door on the other side opens.

Lexa and Octavia flinch as the sounds of scuffling are followed by two guards barging through the door with a young woman struggling between them. The girl is filthy, her blonde hair hanging long and matted around her face, her clothes an odd assortment of local and international styles, and she’s fighting hard against the guards. They shove her into the bars and there’s a thud of a fist slammed into her back forcing her to her knees. 

’This is the woman you stole it from?’ Lexa whispers, not taking her eyes off the scowling girl.

Octavia tries to turn away again, pulling at Lexa’s arm. ‘Exactly, so why don’t we just go—‘

‘Who are you?’ The girl has stopped struggling, pressed hard up against the bars. She glances from Octavia to look at Lexa, eyes running up and down her body. ‘And who’s the broad?’ The woman’s husky voice carries the sharp edges of an American accent.

‘Broad?’ Lexa’s tone is indignant. The gall.

Octavia in her knickerbockers, men’s coat and hat passes for a gentleman more often than not and chooses to press that advantage now. ‘Oh I’m no one, just here with the local missionary chaps. Spreading the good word and all that.’ She flails her hand in the sign of the cross, voice deep then pulls Lexa more into view of the cage. ’But this here is my sister. Lexa.’ 

‘Well, I guess she’s not a total loss.’ The  woman is wholly unapologetic. 

‘I beg your pardon?’ Lexa bristles. She knew American’s were rude, but really.

Octavia  pulls Lexa closer to whisper in her ear. ‘Ask her about the thing. The box.’

Lexa scowls at Octavia but pursues her questions anyway. ‘We’ve found your,’ she pauses as the blonde woman stares past them. ‘Excuse me.’ The girl turns back and Lexa looses her train of thought as at the closer range she can see the clarity of her blue eyes. ‘Um, we found your box. And we wanted to ask you about it.’

For a prisoner on her knees, the girl is far too confident and she scoffs, ‘No,’ shaking her head. 

‘No?’ Lexa ignores the noise behind her as their guide moves away shouting orders in  Arabic.

’No,’ the girl continues. 'You came to ask me about Hamunaptra.’ She has a sing-song lilt to her voice and she grips the bars with loose fingers, leaning as if at a restaurant bar in Cairo rather than a prison known for daily hangings.

Lexa and Octavia share a look. ‘How do you know the box pertains to Hamunaptra?’ Lexa lowers her voice as Octavia looks around for anyone who might be listening.

‘Because that’s where I was when I found it,’ The girl seems wryly amused by their questions.

‘Come on Lex, she’s probably lying,’ Octavia tries to pull her arm again.

‘You were actually _at_ Hamunaptra?’ Lexa ignores her sister and leans forward.

‘Do I know you?’ the girl looks Octavia over again, as if bored by their conversation.

‘No, not at all.’ Octavia scrambles back from the bars, turning away. ‘Why who are you?’ she babbles and rubs her palms down her shirt front in a nervous gesture.

Lexa pushes Octavia further back and steps herself closer to the bars, bending down to look into the prisoners eyes. ‘You were really there?’ 

‘Clarke.’

‘What?’

‘My name is Clarke. And yes I was there.’

Lexa watches her eyes. 'Clarke, do you swear?’

‘Every damn day.’ She enjoys Lexa’s disapproval.

‘I didn’t mean that.’

‘Yeah, I know what you meant. You want to get to the City of the Dead.’

That’s exactly what Lexa wants to hear. She feels a tangible excitement as she leans in closer. ‘Could you tell me how to get there?’ This filthy uncouth girl could give her everything she needs. ‘I mean, the exact location.’ Lexa crouches down and takes off her broad sun-hat to shield them from the prying eyes of guards and prisoners.

‘You really want to know?’ Clarke’s voice is low, confiding like she would share a secret. 

‘Yes.’ Lexa bends closer to the bars. 

‘Really, really want to know?’ Blue eyes flick left and right as she leans in closer to the bars with a small smile.

Lexa is so close to her now she can see flecks of ice grey in the girl’s eyes. ‘Y-yes.’ Lexa stutters at the smile on her lips. Clarke lifts a hand from the bars to gesture with one finger and Lexa follows the direction to move in. Too close. That same hand grips her jaw, strong fingers pulling her in until Clarke’s lips press firm against hers. There’s a cold metal bar against Lexa's cheek, those fingers pull too tightly at her chin, and Clarke’s lips are dry and cracked, but Lexa doesn’t pull away first.

Clarke breathes in sharply as she pulls back and opens her eyes. 'Then get me the hell out of here.’ She growls out her plea like a demand as the two guards rush at her. Lexa jumps back, her hand coming up to her mouth in shock. The girl fights, kicks and punches knocking both guards against the bars in an impressive show of strength. It’s not enough though as she’s hit from all sides by batons and fists, and her arms are pulled behind her back. ‘Do it, Lady.’ More guards rush in and the girl disappears behind the closing door.

‘W-wait, where are they taking her?’ Lexa’s question isn’t directed anywhere but their guide comes back in time to answer.

'To be hanged,’ he says without any feeling. He looks at her with a smirk. ‘Apparently, she had a very good time.’

//

The desert didn’t kill her. But it didn’t make her stronger either. Standing next to the hangman on top of a trap door is not where Clarke had aimed to be when she stumbled out of the desert and back into relative civilisation. The Uptight Broad with nice lips and the pick-pocketing ‘brother’ is up with the Warden Gad Hassan. Lexa is fired up over something and gesturing toward Clarke, her eyes lit up in the passion of debate. 

‘Any last requests?’ The hangman tightens the noose with more force than necessary.

‘Yeah,’ Clarke says. ‘Let me go.’

He looks confused, even shouts out to the warden something she doesn’t catch. He is an idiot. They both are idiots, and she really hopes this isn’t her last day on earth. Clarke wonders how she gets herself into these situations. 

Lexa is still arguing with the warden and she must say something to spark his interest, his hand creeping onto her thigh. Clarke laughs when she slaps him away then immediately hates the silly Bint as the order is given and the floor falls out from under her feet.

There’s a snap when the rope goes taught but, just like the desert, the noose doesn’t kill her. There’s a shout and rush of noise from the crowd. Little else reaches her consciousness as blood rushes in her ears and oxygen fails to reach her lungs. She kicks and struggles but it’s no use. She hears Lexa say something about Hamunaptra and wishes she would stop shouting their secrets among criminals. There are stars in the grey behind her eyelids and she’s going to die in this stinking hell.

‘Cut her down.’ The three most beautiful words ever spoken reach her through the haze. 

She doesn’t feel the fall but her legs crumple underneath her and suddenly Clarke has a mighty love for solid, stinking earth that will never be surpassed. She looks up to Lexa and the warden realising that she must have negotiated her release. 

The warden is speaking with his men in quick whispers and Clarke doubts that whatever could have prompted him to release her could be good. She looks to Lexa for answers and finds her already looking toward her. She’s smiling too brightly for this awful place. Clarke’s already thundering heart kicks over to a different rhythm and she knows she’ll be following this girl into hell. And she likely won’t even mind. 

//

Two days later.

Lexa shakes her head as they weave through the busy riverside crowd. Hawkers, ship’s crew and british soldiers mill about busily preparing boats for departure.

Octavia assures Lexa that Clarke will arrive soon. ‘She may be a something of a cowboy but I've known her type. Her word is her word.’

There are piles of luggage around them and Octavia has chosen to leave her bags among the rest but Lexa prefers to carry her own. ‘Well whatever else she is,’ Lexa says. ‘I think she’s completely uncivilised, rude, filthy, a complete scoundrel and I don’t like her one bit.’

‘Talking about anyone I know?’ The sharp American accent is unmistakable and Lexa turns with burning cheeks to see the object of her contempt approaching them. The way Clarke walks with a long bold stride matches well with her chosen masculine attire, with the gun harness wrapped over her torso, and the duffle bag slung over one shoulder. She’s so clean now, her tan slacks and well pressed white shirt, her hair tied up in a loose bun that lets strands fall to frame her face; Lexa has to look twice to know this is the same girl. The raw marks around her throat are a morbid give-away.

‘Oh, ah. Hello.’ Lexa feels dumb, hating that Clarke’s gaze so disrupts her composure.

Octavia doesn’t seem to notice their staring as she offers her hand to Clarke. ‘Good to see you again, Griffin. Ready to get this show on the road?’

‘Yeah, sure.’ Clarke shakes Octavia’s hand then reaches into her coat in an obvious move to check her wallet is where she left it. 

Octavia laughs awkwardly. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t steal from a partner. Partner.’

‘Sure you wouldn’t.’ 

Lexa has seen enough of her sister’s fibs to spot this one.

‘Miss Griffin, I need you to give me your guarantee that this isn’t some kind of—‘

‘Clarke.’ The girl interrupts with a smirk.

Lexa tries not to be distracted by her steady blue gaze. ‘Clarke, can you look me in the eye and assure me that this isn’t some game, because if it is then I am warning you—.’

‘You’re warning me?’ Clarke scoffs before her expression turns serious. ‘Listen, Lady. My whole damn garrison believed in this city so much that without orders they marched half way through Libya and into Egypt just to find it.’ Clarke’s eyes are expressive, filled with a darkness Lexa doesn’t understand. ‘When we got there all we found was sand and blood.’ 

Lexa doesn’t know how to reply. She doesn’t know how to handle Clarke’s intense gaze, or the way Clarke moves into her space like personal boundaries are foreign or otherwise don’t exist. Lexa resists the urge to step back, her eyes flicking down to Clarke’s lips, pressed into a thin line. After a moment Clarke blinks, registering her proximity to Lexa or maybe how dark and serious her words had become. She looks away and down. 

‘Let me get your bags.’ Clarke leans in close again and runs her fingertips down Lexa’s wrist. All Lexa can do is watch as Clarke takes the bags directly out of her fingers, pulls away and brushes past to walk up the gangway. 

As Lexa stares, head tilted to watch Clarke disappear into the boats interior Octavia leans over her shoulder and hums a mocking agreement. ‘Yes, I see what you mean. Filthy, rude, a complete scoundrel. Nothing to like there at all.’ 

Lexa knows the look Octavia gives her and she can’t say that she’s wrong. Clarke in all her brash stupid bravery intrigues her. 

‘A bright, good morning to you all.’ The warden’s nasal voice interrupts Octavia and Lexa’s silent conversation.

‘Oh no, what are you doing here?” Octavia asks. The deal Lexa made with warden Gad Hassan, cutting him in for twenty percent of the treasure seemed small at the time. Now he’s here in the stinking flesh, they’re both reconsidering.

‘I am here to protect my investment.’

Octavia and Lexa both sigh then follow him up the gangway. 

//

Clarke does’t want to go back to the main deck. There's a team of americans on their own little treasure hunt for hamunaptra and they'll likely try to get more out of her than she’s willing to give. For all that she enjoys trading banter and blows with ignorant yahoos over a few drinks, she’d rather avoid the trouble. Octavia gave them too much already by telling them that they’re all looking for the same thing. 

She’s considering just going to bed when she finds Lexa on deck. She has her nose in a book, tilting the pages toward lamp light that it isn’t quite bright enough. She’s squinting through her glasses. Clarke can’t help but watch, leaning against the wall with a thumb slipped into her shoulder holster. There’s something about smart women that always pulls Clarke in.

Clarke pushes off from the wall instead of just staring. She goes back to her room first, grabs her weapon roll and returns to Lexa’s table.

When Clarke can’t resist throwing her bag down, Lexa’s startle is substantial enough to make the glare she receives very much worth it. 

‘Sorry,’ Clarke says, fighting back a laugh. ’Didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘The only thing that scares me, Miss Griffin,’ Lexa puts a heavy emphasis on her name. ‘Is your manners.’

Clarke lets out a faux sigh. 'Still angry about that kiss, huh?’

Lexa’s reply is quick. ‘If you call that a kiss.’ She turns back to her book but her eyes don’t follow any lines on the page. 

Clarke shakes her head with a smile, looking at Lexa as she undoes the tie on her weapon roll. She flicks the end so it rolls out flat with a clatter, her favourite pistols on display next to a collection of tools and ammunition. 

Lexa jumps again and snaps her book shut, eyes wide as she takes in the arsenal. 'Did I miss something? Are we going into battle?’

‘Look, I know you’re a librarian—.’

‘Scholar.’

‘Fine. There’s something out there.’ Clarke resists a shudder as she remembers that place, the way the sand shifted on its own accord, how men disappeared without warning. ‘There’s something underneath that sand. I aim to be prepared.’

‘Well, I’m hoping to find an important artefact, a book.’ Lexa looks over the weapons, fingers trailing over the hilt of a dagger. ‘Octavia thinks there’s treasure. What do you think is out there?’

Clarke opens up each rifle, checking the mechanisms and cleaning grit and grease from the barrels. She watches Lexa as she does, looking for something other than the blind confidence of academia. ‘In a word,’ she says. ‘Evil.’ Lexa is the kind of person who is so smart and so well read she thinks that the world can be explained in simple terms. Clarke worries that big brain will get her killed. ‘Some believe that Hamunaptra is cursed.’

‘I don’t believe in all those myths and stories,’ Lexa dismisses not hearing the warning in Clarke’s tone. She picks up a tiny blade to examine it like a mysterious artefact. ‘I do believe that a valuable piece of history could be buried there. The book of Amun Ra. It contains the secret incantations of the old kingdom.’ Her eyes light up with a wistful smile as she gazes beyond the water surrounding them and into her own past. ‘Stories of that book are what first interested me in Egypt as a child. It’s why I came here. Sort of a life’s pursuit.’

Clarke watches Lexa’s lips settle into a small smile, watches her fingers playing absently with the blade in her hands. She feels a hope rise in her for Lexa’s intelligent time-wandering eyes to not be damaged in this little adventure. Her shot-gun feels heavy in her hands and she pushes away the hope with a shrug. She’s a realist after all. She watches Lexa close as she says, 'So it makes no never mind to you that the book is made out of pure gold?’

Lexa’s hopeful smile returns, this time directed solely at Clarke. ‘You know your history.’

Under the influence of such a smile, Clarke has to concentrate and clear her head before she can reply.

‘I know my treasure,’ she dismisses the praise and snaps the cleaned shotgun back together. She sets aside the shotgun and picks up a pistol instead, her eyes flicking between the gun in her hands, the table and Lexa’s face. 

Lexa’s expression shifts into a cautious kind of determination. ‘Can I ask you something?’

Clarke’s hands still for a moment before she firms her shoulders and goes back to cleaning her pistol. ‘Sure, shoot.’

Lexa looks down at the table then back up, eyes curious, ernest and so beautifully green. ‘Why did you kiss me?’

‘I was about to be hanged,’ Clarke answers quickly. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’ She clicks the cylinder back into place as she forces a laugh.

Lexa stands with an indignant sound and Clarke can’t help but admire the way her eyes flash with anger. ‘What I say?’ Clarke holds her hands out innocently, watching Lexa storm away down the deck.

Before Clarke can do something stupid like chase after her she sees a movement in the shadows where no movement should be. They’re being watched.

Two quick strides bring her within reach of the boy hiding behind a stack of crates and blankets. She pulls him out by the collar, her pistol pushed into his chest.

‘Clarke,’ the boy says through a tremulous smile looking tiny and weak despite being a foot taller than her. ‘Thank god you’re alive. I was so worried.

‘Well if it isn’t my buddy Jasper.’ Clarke pushes the barrel harder into his chest. ‘I think I’ll kill you now.’ Her tone is conversational as she cocks her weapon.

'No, no please don’t,’ Jasper cries. ‘Think of my children.’

‘You don’t have any children,’ Clarke sneers at him rolling her eyes.

‘Someday I might.’

‘Shut up.’ Clarke doesn’t need this little shit in her life. He left her and all the legion behind. She’d rather not have the little coward around right now. ‘You’re the one that’s leading the americans to Hamunaptra,’ she realises. ‘What’s the plan, Jasper? Lead them out into the desert then abandon them there to die?’

Jasper gives a shrug because he knows as well as Clarke that he’s capable. ‘Unfortunately no. They pay me only half now and half when we get back to Cairo. I have to see the job through.’

Clarke sighs and lets the rat go, stepping back and holstering her weapon. ‘Them’s the breaks, huh?’

Jasper straightens his jacket and pats down his hair. ‘So why are you here Clarke? You never believed in Hamunaptra.’

Clarke looks down and away. Lexa is still close, petting the camels who are stabled at the end of the deck, glancing back at her. ‘See that girl,’ she says to Jasper. He nods as Clarke tries to think of why exactly she would risk so much, to guide Lexa into the very place Clarke swore never to go again. ‘She saved my life,’ Clarke finishes weakly.

Jasper nods and grabs Clarke’s shoulder like they’re still friends. He laughs. ‘You always did let your loins rule your intellect, Clarke.’ He laughs in a stupid snigger and Clarke feels hate boil up in her. She huffs a laugh along with him as Lexa glares at them and disappears from view.

Jasper thinks she’s grasping his shoulder in a friendly gesture as she keeps snorting out laughter. She guides him to the railing, maintains the momentum and tugs his belt up with enough heft to tip him overboard. He yells as he falls then crashes into the water. Considering Clarke nearly died because of him, she feels a short drop into the river is the least she could have done. ‘Goodbye Jasper.’

Clarke returns her pistol to her roll of weapons, chuckling at Jasper’s shouts as he drifts away behind the boat. She turns back to the table to put away her weapons but her hands still in the process of rolling them up. There are wet foot prints across the deck which shouldn’t be there and a hook hanging from the railing. They’re on a passenger boat which left from Cairo only hours ago and someone has gone to all the trouble of boarding by grappling hook and rope. 

Clarke clips a pistol in each holster strapped over her shoulders and carries two more in her hands. She follows the foot prints down a hall and straight to Lexa’s room.

‘Of course,’ Clarke sighs to no one.

There’s a shout and she readies herself for a whole lot of trouble. Clarke raises both arms, a gun in each hand and she kicks down the door. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get more lovey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The number of lines that I remembered off the top of my head is ridiculous. Obviously I've re watched it now but so many scenes from memory. Craziness.

Lexa paces the length of her room, dressed for bed in a nightgown, hair loose, but no where near ready for sleep. She’s wandering in a daze, knowing exactly where her thoughts lie but having no means of diverting them. She misses the hook in hanging her coat and it flops to the ground. 

‘Dammit. For heavens sake girl. It wasn’t that good of a kiss anyway.’ She says the words aloud hoping they’ll be more effective. If Octavia catches her like this the teasing will be merciless. Clarke is a mercenary, a criminal, and like she said herself, she was about to be hanged. The kiss meant nothing to Clarke.

Lexa hadn’t felt anything like that kiss in longer than she’d care to remember.

Lexa takes up her brush and faces the mirror. Once her hair is brushed she will go to sleep, rest and wake up with her focus back on Bembridge-worthy artefacts, not blonde criminals with strong hands and beautiful eyes. She fumbles her book off the edge of the dresser, sighs and bends to pick it up.

She stands and startles.  There's a man reflected behind her. He's shrouded in black and wielding a curved hook instead of a hand. ‘Where is the map,’ he growls. She gasps a scream and he spins her around pressing the hook against her cheek. She glances down at the blade, whimpers and despite herself, looks over at the map on her table, still with a candle along side. The hook stays at her cheek, sliding closer to her eye. ‘The key?’ He asks but Lexa doesn’t know what he means. ‘Where is the key?’

‘Key what key?’ If Lexa knows what he’s looking for she can do a better job of not leading him to it. She eyes off the blade, hoping that this _key_ is worth a scar.

‘Lexa!’ Clarke’s shout is followed by a crash as she smashes through the door with two guns raised.

The assailant pulls her in front of him, blade still at her cheek. A window opens in the other wall and Clarke turns to shoot at another man all in black. A stray bullet hits a lamp which falls ignighting the couch beneath it in flame. Lexa grabs the guttering candle from the table and jabs it in the direction of her assailants face. There’s a sickening hiss with a cry of pain and he lets her go as Clarke grabs Lexa’s hand to drag her towards the door. 

More men in Black appear in the window and Clarke raises both pistols again to cover their exit into the hallway and away from the growing fire.

Lexa runs a few paces and gasps. ‘The map!’ She whirls around. ‘I forgot the map.’ As Clarke finishes reloading her pistols Lexa reaches the doorway, now billowing with fire smoke and heat. 

‘Relax,’ Clarke sighs and hooks a strong arm around Lexa’s waist. ‘I’m the map.’ Lexa yelps and scowls at being jerked back down the hallway. Clarke points to her own temple. ‘It’s all up here.’

‘Well, that’s comforting,’ Lexa groans. She has too much happening in her mind and body. Their escape, the Bembridge scholars, and the feel of Clarke’s hand wrapped around her own are all too much to think straight. Lexa thinks she hears her name. The boat is now well and truly ablaze, horses loose and people all around shouting in a mess of languages. 

Lexa can only follow as Clarke retrieves her weapons roll, crouching round corners and watching in all directions. In a doorway close to the boat’s edge Clarke shoots every visible man in black with their weapon raised. They lean against a solid wall, Clarke shouts over the noise for Lexa’s attention and pushes the weapons into her arms. With her hands free Clarke reloads her pistols while Lexa keeps watch as best she can through the haze. 

Lexa is wishing she’d had any reason to have picked up a gun before now when splinters of wood start exploding from the wall next to them. Another bullet rips through the wall without Clarke noticing, then another and another. Lexa grabs the leather holster wrapped over Clarke’s shoulder, jerks her back toward her and one more blast sprays splinters into the space where Clarke’s head had just been. Clarke’s eyes are wide with shock but she doesn’t say anything, she pushes Lexa’s hand out of her way to grab a second pistol from its holster.

They start running again, pushing through the mayhem of fire and smoke, Clarke firing off endless rounds of bullets while Lexa watches and does what she can to point Clarke in the right direction. Chaos breeds more chaos as fire spreads through each level and explodes from windows and doorways. 

They somehow reach the lowest deck alive, Clarke looks over the railing into dark water and grabs her weapons roll back, her guns holstered. 'Can you swim?’ Clarke has to shout over the roar of flames and screaming men as she slings the roll over her back.

‘Of course I can swim,’ Lexa knows this is not the time for indignation but she’s getting tired of all the shouting. ‘If the occasion calls for it.’ She has no chance to say anything else as Clarke sweeps her feet out from under her to pick her up from the ground.

‘Trust me, this occasion calls for it.’

Lexa cries out but has nothing to hold onto as Clarke pitches her with no apparent effort over the railing. There’s darkness and rushing air then a crash as she hits the water. She’s under for several terrifying seconds before she finds gravity again and bursts to the surface. There’s shouting and more splashes but there’s no sign of Clarke or of Octavia. She swims away from the boat as a man engulfed in flames falls too close, and she tries to remember the last time she’d seen Octavia. 

Panic tightens her chest and threatens to pull her under but then there’s a familiar wail followed by a splash as Octavia joins her in the water. ‘Lexa!’ is the first thing Octavia screams on surfacing and Lexa shouts her name back grinning as they slip beneath the surface in an effort to embrace one another. 

’The shore,’ Lexa says. ‘Where’s—‘ Her unfinished question is answered as Clarke jumps, flailing, into the river a few yards behind them. Lexa starts swimming toward her but Clarke shakes her head and points in the other direction. The opposite bank is further away but Lexa trusts Clarke knows what she’s doing.

//

Clarke follows Lexa and Octavia onto shore, dripping and cold. She throws her weapons to the ground, not caring an inch about their care for the first time in her life. 

‘We’ve lost everything,’ Octavia groans. 

‘All our equipment,’ Lexa adds.

‘All of my clothes,’ Octavia throws her hands in the air.

A shout from the other bank interrupts their catalogue of losses. Jasper is waving at them. ‘Hey Clarke, looks to me like I’ve got all the horses!’

Clarke wishes she’d killed him. ‘Hey Jasper, looks to me like you’re on the wrong side of the river!’ It’s petty but true, and could give them the head start they’ll need to get to Hamunaptra first. Jasper takes the jab with as much aplomb as ever, cussing loudly and kicking the water in a rage.

Warden Hassan makes his appearance soon after and Clarke knows how dire their situation is when she’s glad. They’ll need money to restock. It takes until morning for them to find a marketplace with enough supplies, equipment, and dry clothes for the rest of their trip and they separate  to find what they need. Octavia and Clarke have new clothes in minutes but only because the stall owner wants the out. They're both thrown new pants and boots without a proper fitting and likely pay more than they should. ‘Think that will ever change?’ Octavia asks Clarke, tightening the laces on her boots.

Clarke tightens up her belt and holsters, ignoring the rude gestures made by the salesman. ‘We can hope.’

Octavia leaves to find their camels and Clarke hands over the other half of their money to the scowling stall owner. She loosely ties her hair back up, gathers everything up and leaves the tent to hear Octavia haggling. Badly. In English. Octavia’s shoulders are tense and she looks ready to stab the man leading the camels they need to buy. 

Clarke sighs. ‘Just give him the money, would you.’

Octavia looks ready to argue but gives up and hands over the cash. ‘Can’t believe the price of these flea bags.’ She waves her hand in front of her face to ward off the smell of them.

Clarke leads two of the groaning beasts away by their harness. ‘You know, we could have gotten them for free,’ she says with Octavia following close behind. ‘Should have just given him your sister.’ Clarke looks ahead again to find the women’s clothing stall surrounded by rolls of fabric and strings of beads. There’s a flurry of activity as four women emerge with a fifth behind them. Lexa.

‘Oh right, women as currency. So funny.’ Octavia plays at offence before grinning. ‘Awfully, tempting wasn’t it.’

Clarke has just enough presence of mind to answer Octavia’s question with one breathy word. ‘Awfully,’ she agrees.

Lexa is dressed in a more elaborate version of local dress; entirely covered in black fabric which is drawn close around her figure. Strings of silver, leather and coins are draped over her chest and around her waist and Clarke drinks it all in with Lexa’s shy half-smile. Her eyes are made brighter by the thick black lines painted around them and Clarke knows she could lose herself in their colour.

Lexa looks down after meeting Clarke’s gaze allowing Clarke to catch back the breath that had caught in her lungs. She wants to tell Lexa she looks beautiful, she really does but then the camels get restless, Hassan arrives swearing in Arabic and the moment is lost.

//

There’s many miles of desert between the river and their destination, and Octavia complains much of the way. ‘I hate camels,’ she moans shifting about in her saddle, and Lexa is inclined to agree.

Clarke laughs and pats her mount’s pelt as high up on his neck as she can reach. ‘I think they’re adorable,’ she says and smiles back at Lexa. They make eye contact and Lexa feels her own smile rising but then Clarke turns away like she’d rather not see it.

Hassan sings and spits, Octavia complains, and Lexa watches Clarke slouching in her saddle like she couldn’t be any more comfortable. Octavia comes up beside her . 'Absolute scoundrel,' she murmurs low. Lexa shushes her and hates how well Octavia reads her. 

A few more hours and the sun disappears. Clarke won’t let them stop assuring them that timing is everything. Lexa’s almost asleep and Clarke ties ropes between their saddles to keep them close. She dreams of the endless horizon and of Clarke keeping her safe as she does the same for her.

Lexa sleeps long enough for the sky to brighten and the stars to dim. The Americans from the boat are approaching them across the sand from the opposite direction, the angry skinny boy leading the team. ‘Good morning, Clarke,’ the boy calls.

The american team is made up of dozens of people with mountains of equipment. Lexa feels small for a moment before she remembers that she has more than just braun and steel on her side. She is smarter than they are. She knows this city, likely better than anyone else has known it in a thousand years.

One of the more distinctly american men in a cowboy hat pipes up. ‘Remember our bet. Five hundred cash bucks for whoever gets to the city first.’ 

They all turn toward the furthest horizon, Octavia close enough to sling her arm over Lexa’s shoulders. ‘What are they talking about?’ Lexa asks, finding her answer when Octavia tenses.

‘Just a small wager,’ Octavia shrugs. ‘What are we waiting for?’

‘You’ll see,’ Clarke murmurs. The first glow of dawn is lighting her face and Lexa turns back to the horizon as it shimmers and shifts. The sun grows bloated and red then rises higher revealing a hidden city.

‘Hamunaptra,’ she whispers and Octavia releases Lexa’s shoulders to take up her reigns again. Lexa does the same, looks to Clarke who gives her a grin. Lexa feels that smile the same way she felt it in the prison when Clarke was still behind bars. 

The sun rises further and the horizon stops shifting, their path made clear. ‘Hya!’ the first cry rings out and they’re all off, charging ahead on camels and horses in an exhilarating chase. 

The camels are faster than the horses and they pull ahead quickly. Clarke looses some speed as she has to fight off the skinny boy who’s swatting at her with his crop Clarke grabs the boy by his collar, ‘Later Jasper,’ she says and tips him out of his saddle. Lexa grins as she overtakes the tumbling boy and Clarke both, clicking her tongue and repeating the commands she knows the camels will follow. Brains over braun.

‘Yeah, go Lexa!’ Octavia shouts over the growing distance between them. 

Without any prompting from a whip Lexa’s Camel lurches into a final burst of speed and charges through the gates of the crumbled city. Clarke follows close behind and Lexa whoops a cheer at their race.

She slows and Clarke matches her pace. ‘I had the impression you didn’t approve of gambling,’ Clarke comments jostling up beside her. 

Lexa shrugs. ‘I think it’s a waste of energy, a waste of money, and a sign of weak character. But a race is fun, and I like to win.’

‘You enjoy winning? I didn’t know you were capable of fun.’ Clarke is teasing and Lexa tries not to take the bate. Clarke is smiling, energised from the ride and Lexa has trouble regaining her focus.

'We should claim our space before the others get here.’ She diverts her attention back to the ruins and feels a fresh thrill run through her that has nothing to do with camel races or Clarke’s clear eyes.

//

The Americans flow through the gate and, with more tents and less bullets, the spine-tingling horror of Hamunaptra is less apparent. Still, Clarke feels the urge to flee, and she doesn’t know if her previous brush with death here is the only thing prompting her to leave.

She does know why she stays though as Lexa lights up with a passion for history and fresh discovery. Once they set up their tents, high up with a view of the city, they get to work and Clarke gets to see Lexa in her element. It’s like Lexa can see history and meaning in every grain of sand where all Clarke can see is death. 

Lexa prattles on and on about things Clarke is sure would be interesting if they had some context, but Lexa seems to be talking to herself more than anyone else. Clarke turns to Octavia who appears to be following along, nodding like she knows most of this already. Clarke catches her eye and receives a wink; Octavia is here for treasure not history but she wouldn’t interrupt Lexa for anything.

Lexa pours over walls of faded hieroglyphics and she sighs again at the loss of her tools in the fire. Clarke asks her what kind of tools she needs and tries to convince herself she’s only curious. An hour later she sneaks into the American camp to learn more about them, and just happens to come back with a whole dig-kit tucked into her belt. 

Lexa keeps talking almost without stop. ‘This is the statue of Anubis,’ Lexa points up to a statue of a man with the head of a dog. She says more about dog-man but Clarke doesn’t hear it as the weight of the tool-kit digs into her side.

Lexa has pulled a tarnished sheet of metal from the sand, it is still shining at it’s centre and reflects the sun brightly. Clarke swallows, her throat dry. ‘So, what are the old mirrors for?’ 

‘Ancient mirrors,’ Lexa corrects her. ‘An ancient Egyptian trick. You’ll see.’ Lexa stumbles over her last word as she looks at Clarke properly.

Clarke must look nervous. She feels nervous and she hates it. ‘Here,’ she jerks her hand forward with the roll of tools. ‘I ah, borrowed this from our american friends. Thought you might like it for all the,’ she trails off indicating hammers and chisels with little movements of her hands.

Lexa opens the roll cautiously. Her gaze flicking from Clarke’s eyes back down to the gift. Clarke is thinking of this gift as an apology but doesn’t know how to say the words aloud. Before Lexa can do more than see the collection of tools Clarke turns and dives back into her own work. 

The sooner they find that book and get out of here, the better. 

Clarke drops down her tied-off rope into the underground cavern ahead of everyone else. Bold and stupid and a thing she would never do if Lexa wasn’t watching. She calls out from solid ground that the space is clear and hopes that's right as Lexa shimmies down after her. Clarke catches Lexa automatically, arms falling around her waist and Lexa murmurs her thanks then steps away, distracted by their surroundings. It's almost black, the air dense. She finds another shining mirror in the dust and tilts it upwards until the sunlight creeping down hits it just right, bounces from that mirror to another and a dozen others until the whole room is lit up. The ceiling is low and two walls close but it's long with stone benches meant for work along two sides.

Octavia and the warden follow, Hassan reminding them to watch out for bugs and Clarke busies herself lighting their torches. ‘It’s a preparation room,’ Lexa explains waving a hand around the dusty space. Clarke could guess what that means but doesn’t really want to. ‘For entering the afterlife,’ she adds in a ghostly tremor. ‘This is where they made the mummies.’

There’s stone tables, remnants of a half completed sarcophagus, and every other indication of the death business. They leave the space to wander down a series of tunnels, Clarke following Lexa’s lead and hoping she can find their way out as easily as she’s directing them in. Everything about the space is unsettling, and the flicker of their torch light isn’t helping. There’s scuttling insect noises coming from every direction and Clarke keeps her gun in one hand, a flaming torch held high in the other.

Finally the legs of Anubis come into view as Lexa leads them full circle to the base of the statue. The dark saturates everything around their torches and the scuttling persists in bursts. Lexa and Octavia hover close at Clarke’s back with Hassan spinning in wild circles and attempting to extend the reach of his torchlight. Something like wind murmurs around them, there’s moans and quiet undefinable sounds reflecting from the stone walls. Clarke hands her torch to Lexa so she can draw a second gun and they huddle together behind the statue. Octavia and Hassan both have small pistols in hand as well and Clarke raises both her own and turns around the corner. 

There’s a flurry of clicks and shouts as the entire american team comes into view with loaded guns and drawn knives. Everyone relaxes releasing the hammers on their weapons as they all realise there's no monsters after all. ‘Gentlemen,’ Clarke greets them. She knows Cage, Emmerson, and Lovejoy from the boat as well as their History Professor Dante Wallace, and good old Jasper. Neither they nor the team of Egyptian workers behind them look happy.

Cage steps away from the rest pointing at Lexa, ‘Hey that’s my toolkit,’ he says and Lexa flinches, the hand with her new kit disappearing behind her back. Everyone cocks their weapons again.

'No, I don’t think so,’ Clarke says, on edge with so many barrels pointed her way.

Cage raises his hands and steps back, ‘Okay,’ he says in a calming tone as everyone’s pistols go back to their sides. ‘Guess I was mistaken.’

‘Well good afternoon gentlemen,’ Lexa dismisses them with a nod back the way they came. ‘We have a lot of work to do here.’

‘Push off,’ Dante leans around his younger counterparts. ‘This is our dig site.’

‘We got here first,’ Octavia’s voice is petulant but she speaks for all of them.

‘This here’s our dig site, Friend.’ Emmerson’s every syllable is laced with threat.

‘I don’t see your name written on it, Pal,’ Clarke gives back equal spite.

Jasper gives a weak little laugh. ‘Well since there's only four of you and fifteen of us, I think maybe you should walk away from this one, Clarke.’

‘I’ve seen worse odds,’ Clarke grits out. 

‘Yeah, me too.’ Octavia has come up beside her and nods with obviously false bravado.

They are entirely outnumbered, facing off at the side of a monolith that holds no great value to Clarke, but she doesn’t lower her weapon. She can feel Lexa’s eyes on her back and she knows how important this find could be.

‘For goodness sake,’ Lexa comes up on her other side. ‘Let’s be nice, children,’ her voice is sweet, and Clarke holds in her surprise when Lexa stands directly between them, a target for all, and starts pushing the row of guns down to point at the ground. ‘If we’re going to play together then we must learn to share.’ 

Everyone starts to relax and Clarke has to use all her self control to keep from smiling. Most of the Americans have lowered their weapons and Lexa turns back to Clarke to murmur in a voice meant only for her. ‘There are other places to dig,’ she says and wraps her hand around Clarke’s arm. Clarke lowers her weapon before she makes the conscious decision to do so.

//

Those blasted americans may have staked their claim on Anubis’ pedestal but Lexa is good at finding ways around her problems. She brings Clarke and Octavia with their digging equipment to find a way under their prize. The warden has disappeared but that’s likely for the best.

‘According to these hieroglyphics,’ she explains while Clarke and Octavia lay into the ceiling with picks and sledge hammers. 'This chamber is directly underneath the statue, which means we should be able to dig through and come up right between his legs. The artefact should be there, if those beastly americans haven’t beaten us to it.’ Clarke is still swinging at the ceiling but Lexa still adds, ‘No offence.’

‘None taken,’ Clarke grunts. The exertion is making Clarke’s breathing heavy, the muscles in her arms and neck flexing beneath shining skin. Lexa stops talking and turns back to the wall to pretend to examine the markings there. 

Octavia takes up the thread of their plan. ‘So we’ll slip in and clean the whole lot out, once those damned American gone off for some sleep – no offence,’ Octavia’s voice has a mocking edge directed squarely at Lexa.

‘None taken.’ Clarke is focused enough that she might not have noticed.

Once they’ve almost dug through to the base of the statue there’s nothing to do but wait until they’re sure the americans have left. Lexa’s fascination with the wall becomes less and less convincing and Octavia seems determined to busy herself with whatever activity will keep her isolated while still within range. For now she is playing at golf with the sledgehammer and various rocks. She cries out, ‘Four,’ at a particularly good hit and Lexa can’t help but turn to Clarke who meets her eyes with a questioning smile.

’So, how—.’

‘What do you—.’

‘Sorry go ahead.’

’No I apologise, after you.’

Clarke and Lexa’s voices mix and they both cut themselves off. Octavia shakes her head but sticks to her golf game with no comments made. Clarke speaks up first. ’So, mummies?’ she winces a little but Lexa knows she won’t have done any better and really she can talk about mummification all day. 

Clarke is morbidly fascinated and Lexa enjoys the audience as she outlines in explicit detail the method of mummification. They're seated side by side on a fallen block of stone and Lexa can't help but move closer to Clarke as she enthuses over history.

Clarke holds up her hand interrupting one graphic description. ‘So let me get this straight, they ripped out your guts and stuffed them in jars?’

Lexa nods playing about with the set of tools Clarke gave her. ‘Oh, and you know how they took out your brains?’

Clarke shakes her head, horrified.

Lexa enjoys this too much. Clarke’s every new expression is like fuel in Lexa’s blood. She lifts up a long metal spike to demonstrate in the air between them. ‘They take a sharp red-hot poker, stick it up your nose, scramble things about a bit, and then rip it all out through your nostrils.’ 

‘Ouch,’ Clarke touches her nose with a frown at the spike. ‘That’s got to hurt.’ 

‘Well, you’ll be dead when they do this, so.’

‘For the record, if I don’t make it out of here, don’t put me down for mummification.’ Clarke is only half joking and Lexa has to wonder how many times she’d been close to death.

‘Same here,’ Octavia agrees and swings at a particularly large rock. It bounces off a hollow sounding brick, there's a rumble and the roof caves in between them. When the dust clears and everyone has survived Octavia is still holding the hammer over her shoulder says, ‘Oops?’

//

A sarcophagus dropped from the roof. The sarcophagus is locked and Lexa has the key, that little box that started this whole things fits the lock on the coffin of most likely a terrible terrible person. ‘He Who Must Not Ne Named,’ Lexa says reading the inscription. Clarke would warn Lexa not to open it if she thought for a second she’d be heard. Lexa holds her hand ready to twist the star shaped key but before she can the sound of screaming echoes up the tunnel. A man is screaming and screaming and coming closer to them. 

Clarke runs toward the sound with Lexa close behind her, the tunnels are dark and the torches only reach so far. Out of the dark Warden Hassan runs screaming into their circle of light. Screaming and blind in panic he runs straight past them down the tunnel and smacks his head straight into the wall with an audible, deadly crack.

‘Well, that was—.’ Octavia doesn’t actually try to put that scene into words and they all turn toward the exit in unison.

On solid, open ground the twinkling stars are comforting after the bleakness of the underground tunnels. Clarke goes to speak with the American team while Lexa stokes up their fire. When Clarke returns she debates not telling Lexa and Octavia what she learned. Lexa is curled in on herself already, staring at the fire like she’s seen a ghost, or really, like she's seen a man bludgeon himself to death against a wall. Clarke understands that they need to know, understands that it isn’t her place to protect Lexa from these things. 

She crouches in front of the fire, her arm brushing against Lexa’s. ‘Our american friends had an interesting day as well. Some of their workers were,’ she hesitates but Lexa is watching her with warm expectant eyes. ‘They were melted. Pressurised salt acid. Melted their skin off.’

Lexa and Octavia both wince and Octavia shudders. ‘Maybe this place really is cursed.’

The wind rises, Clarke and Octavia share a dark look and Lexa rolls her eyes. ‘Oh for heavens sake, don’t be ridiculous. There’s no such thing as curses.’

Clarke watches her expression, wishing to understand more of what makes Lexa tick. ‘You don’t believe in curses?’ she asks, poking at the fire.

’No,’ Lexa says emphatically. ‘I believe that if you can see it and touch it then it’s real. That’s what I believe.’

Clarke thinks for a moment then picks up her shotgun to make sure it’s loaded. Lexa looks at her for a response. ‘I believe in being prepared.’ Clarke watches the surrounding camp for a long moment, examining each shadow and fire-lit stone closely before turning back to Lexa. They're each of them searching for something in the other’s eyes. Clarke wonders how Lexa sees her, if she still imagines Clarke to be some brutish criminal.

Octavia sighs and reaches across them for Hassan’s bag. ‘Let’s see what our friend the warden believed in, shall we?’ Octavia opens the flap to push through the contents and Lexa turns to watch. Lexa and Clarke are both tense, still thinking about curses and shadows and what they believe in. ‘Ah!’ Octavia shouts and flinches her hand out of the bag like she’s been bitten.

Clarke points the shotgun at the bag and Lexa screams, ‘Oh my god what is it.’

Octavia sucks at her finger. ‘Language, my sister. It’s just a broken bottle.’ Lexa sighs in relief and Clarke relaxes, putting the shotgun aside. Octavia extracts the bottle gingerly and turns the label into the light. ‘Glenn Livett twelve years old. Well, He may have been a stinky fellow but he had good taste.’ Octavia pulls out the cork and takes a swig, sighing as she gulps it down. 

There's a yell and they all flinch as thundering hooves, shouts and unmistakable war cries prompt Clarke to grab a pistol from her holster. Dozens of warriors, the same ones from the boat, in black and now on horseback charge into the city carrying torches and wielding weapons. ‘Stay here,’ Clarke orders and charges away down the sand. Lexa ignores her and follows close behind, wielding the newly loaded shotgun. 

They separate and Clarke ends up standing on a high stone block, firing into the mess of people and horses. There’s gunfire flying from both sides, shouting, screams and tents set ablaze. It’s mayhem again and Clarke thinks she’s had about enough of mayhem. She knows Lexa is out here somewhere wielding a gun she’s probably never used before, but Clarke is too busy trying to stay alive herself to find her. 

Octavia screams past with the bottle still in her hand and a man on horseback following behind. Clarke knows Octavia will die if she does nothing so she leaps from her safe, high stone and into the rider knocking him from his horse. They both scramble to their feet and Clarke comes face to face with the curved blade of a sword. The man behind it is completely covered but for his eyes and he appears all the more dangerous for it. Clarke’s gun is useless as he somehow strikes it from her hand. She ducks the swinging blade, scrambles toward the fire with a prayer and finds a stick of dynamite in the sand. Without thinking at all Clarke jabs the end of the trailing thread into the fire and it lights with a shower of sparks.

The man in black eyes the dynamite, meets her gaze and knows Clarke is serious, that she will die to make this all stop. He relaxes, leaning more heavily on one leg and shouts ‘Stop,’ in english and his own language. His free hand comes up to the cloth wrapping around his face to pull it away. 

A woman, not a man is underneath watching Clarke and the sparkling dynamite, and calling to her warriors. ‘We will shed no more blood tonight.’ She addresses the entire camp, pushing dark hair from her eyes. ‘You must leave. Leave this place or die. You have one day.’ Another warrior brings her a fresh horse and the woman sheathes her sword before swinging herself up into the saddle. Clarke is sure the girl manually connects her favoured leg to the stirrup and then she rides out along with all her warriors.

Clarke tugs the fuse from the dynamite and tosses it into the fire to pocket the stick. Octavia stumbles over some broken rocks to retrieve her pistol, bottle of whiskey still safe in her hand. Clarke hears Lexa’s voice carry over the noise and Clarke rushes to find her tangled up in the canvas of a collapsed tent. ‘Are you okay?’ She takes Lexa’s hand, runs shaking fingers down Lexa’s cheek and over her jaw just to check she’s definitely alive. 

Lexa appears just as relieved to see her and pushes up into her arms. ‘Octavia?’ she asks into Clarke’s shoulder. 

Clarke assures Lexa that Octavia is fine and helps Lexa stand on wobbly legs keeping a hold of both elbows to save her falling back down. They’re so close that Clarke can feel Lexa’s breath on her cheek and can see the way her pupils have blown out from the dark and the adrenalin. ‘I’m fine,’ Lexa says and Clarke brings her hand up to check under Lexa’s jaw again. She can see the start of a bruise forming along the column of her neck but Lexa holds the back of Clarke’s hand and tells her without words not to worry.

They decide to camp around their campfire. Octavia declares that they all need a drink and share the bottle between them. Clarke take a few sips but prefers to keep her wits sharp for tonight. Lexa seems not to have drunk whisky before and slips quickly into sharing stories and giggling. She's holding onto Clarke's arm, sometimes sitting up, sometimes leaning into her but always staying in contact. 

Clarke learns more about them both as Octavia and Lexa both tell stories from their childhood. Lexa grins, playing with Clarke’s fingers as Octavia tries to demonstrate slight of hand tricks while mostly giving away more secrets than she keeps. ‘Don’t ever try to pick pockets when you’re drunk,’ Clarke tells her.

‘Please, I am not drunk, Griffin. I am mildly inebriated. You’re the one that’s – that’s two of you.’ Octavia points at Clarke and squints. She points at Lexa as well. ‘And two of you too.’ She closes one eye to focus then closes both eyes and collapses sideways onto her bedroll fast asleep. 

‘That was entertaining,’ Clarke comments and Lexa wobbles over to pull a blanket up to Octavia’s shoulders. She kneels down and with gentle fingertips pushes hair back from Octavia’s face, and tucks loose strands behind her ear. ‘Goodnight, little sister.’ Octavia looks younger asleep in the camp light.

'Tough little one,’ Clarke says aloud without meaning to. The whiskey might be affecting her more than she realised.

Lexa nods, eyes soft as she slumps back into Clarke's side. ‘Always out looking for a fight. My father nearly killed her when she started wearing trousers and running around with the boys. But nothing could stop her. She was always out getting into fistfights and dangerous adventures.’ She looks up at Clarke with a smile. ‘I've never been in a fight before.'

Clarke makes a decision and gets to her feet. ‘Well then, you should learn how to defend yourself.’

‘Oh no,’ Lexa waves away the suggestion. 

‘Why not? Scared?’ Clarke teases her with a smile.

Lexa glares like she knows exactly what Clarke is doing but she stands anyway. 

‘Okay, hands up,’ Clarke says striking a boxers pose which Lexa mimics. ’No, make a fist and hands up in front of your eyes.’

‘But then I wouldn’t be able to see.’

‘Your nose then.’

Lexa does as directed but the way she’s clenched her fist will probably break her hand. Clarke reaches out and rearranges Lexa’s fingers. ‘Here, like this. Keep your thumb out so you don’t break it.’ She steps back, ignoring the imprint of Lexa’s skin on her fingertips. She lifts up her hand, palm facing Lexa. ‘Okay, feet apart.’ She taps her other hand into her open palm. ‘And aim for right here.’ Lexa does as she’s told, giggling as she tries to look tough and firming the frame of her arms. ‘Alright tough stuff, now mean it.’

‘Mean it,’ Lexa swings her arm, charging forward. She connects with Clarke’s hand but her body follows through. She squeals and spins losing her feet so Clarke has to catch her, arms wrapped around her torso. 

‘Okay time for another drink,’ Clarke teases as she lowers Lexa to the ground. 

Lexa’s eyes have become unfocused as she points at Clarke with one hand while reaching out to take the bottle from Octavia's arms with the other. ‘Unlike my Sister, Miss Clarke Griffin, I know when to say no.’ She tips back the bottle to gulp down another swig. Whiskey dribbles down her chin and she grimaces at the taste once she swallows.

‘Ah huh,’ Clarke humours her. ‘And like your sister. You, I just don’t get.’

Lexa takes another swig, corks the bottle and grimaces again. ‘I know,’ she nods and wipes her chin with the back of her hand. She gasps at the alcohol burn and tucks the bottle back into the crook of Octavia’s elbow. ‘You’re wondering, what is a place like me doing, in a girl like this?’ She points from herself to the surrounding camp.

‘Yeah, something like that.’ Clarke sits down, legs half crossed in front of her.

Lexa resettles and tucks herself in closer, both feet tucked to one side so her knees scoot in under Clarke’s legs, her thigh warm against the back of Clarke’s legs. ‘Egypt is in my blood,’ She sways forward and back, gaze flicking down to Clarke’s lips then back to her eyes. Her forehead almost bumps into Clarke’s but she leans back to pull a locket from her dress. ‘You see my father was a very famous explorer and he loved Egypt so much he married my mother who was an Egyptian and quite the adventurer herself.’ Lexa leans in again to show Clarke two photos in the locket without taking the chain from her neck.

Clarke resists the pull to run the back of her fingers across Lexa’s sternum and focuses on the photos. She can see even in the tiny photographs that Lexa is as beautiful as her mother. She lets the locket drop. ‘Okay, so I get your mother and your father,’ she points to Octavia. ‘And I get her. But, what are you doing here?’

Lexa’s hazy happy smile shifts into an angry scowl as she groans in frustration. ‘Look, I may not be an adventurer or an explorer.’ She tries to stand for emphasis and Clarke guides her upright until Lexa is swaying but standing as she continues, ‘Or a treasure seeker or a gun fighter, Miss Griffin.’ She points at Clarke. ‘But I am proud. Of what I am,’ her voice lifts as she looks to the stars with a smile.

‘And what is that?’ Clarke prompts.

‘I.’ Lexa looks confused for a moment before her expression clears with a smile. ‘Am a Librarian.’ She looks down at Clarke, grinning with her revelation. Clarke’s heart clenches at the way Lexa looks at her and she sucks in a breath when Lexa drops to her knees to lean in close. ‘And I, am going to kiss you now, Miss Griffin.’

Clarke tries to focus past her own dizzy haze. ‘Just “Clarke” is fine,’ she says with an awkward nod. 

‘Oh,’ Lexa lets out a breathy laugh, eyes swimming with affection. ‘Clarke,’ she agrees and leans in, eyes on Clarke’s lips.

Clarke leans in with her, hesitantly moving forward so Lexa can make the decision to close that last distance between them. Lexa’s hand comes down on Clarke’s thigh and her eyes close, head tilting to one side. Clarke’s pulse beats through her ears, her heart in her throat with Lexa so close, her hand so warm. Clarke can feel the breath on her mouth and she parts her lips, ready to meet Lexa’s. Lexa sighs but their lips don’t connect as she slumps forward and collapses into Clarke’s arms yet again.

Clarke shakes her head feeling foolish. 

She tucks Lexa in under some blankets, avoiding skin to skin contact where possible and ignoring Lexa’s sleepy mutterings. Lexa says something like “kiss you” again in her sleep and Clarke sighs, ‘Maybe next time, Miss Adventure.’

 


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning, the sun is too bright and Lexa feels foolish. She doesn’t remember everything but she’s fairly sure that she tried to kiss Clarke. Rather than face her in the harsh light of day Lexa announces that they should head inside to open the Sarcophagus. At least this way Lexa can focus on her work instead of the looks Clarke keeps throwing her. Better to think about dead things than dwell on the warm feeling that blooms in her chest every time she meets Clarke's gaze.

Octavia is diving into the manual labour of archaeology head first, rolling up her sleeves and wielding tools as if she'd been doing so her whole life. Clarke seems to do the same by habit so Lexa is left standing back and giving direction as they lever the sarcophagus lid with heavy crowbars. It’s leaning up against the wall and unlocked by Octavia’s artefact but still needs some persuasion.

Both Clarke and Octavia groan in effort and lean into their tools until something gives and the seal is broken in a gasp of air. All three of them leap back from the falling lid and the flurry of dust, which accompanies the lurching corpse out into the open. Lexa yelps as the thing inside hits some barrier to hang half out, half within its tomb.

‘Oh my God! I hate it when these things do that.’ Lexa is startled and disgusted by the thing inside.

Undoubtedly a man once upon a time, but buried without the proper process so his skin has rotted to show the bones, his skull half caved with the jaw at an inhuman angle.

Clarke holds her wrist up under her nose against the smell. ‘Is he supposed to look like that?’

Lexa takes a few steps closer to see. ’Certainly not. This corpse is over five thousand years old.’

Octavia grimaces. ‘Well the word sarcophagus does mean  _flesh eating_  but it looks as if this mummy is still, decomposing. I never expected to find anything quite so fleshly as this.’ 

‘Or juicy,’ Clarke comments.

Lexa stares at Octavia surprised until she notices and scowls. ‘What? I know things?’

‘Yes, well. If we can understand more about this character when he was alive, then we’ll likely understand more about why he’s this way now.’

‘What about that?’ Clarke points to the upturned lid of the coffin. Inside it is smooth and black but for a few crude carvings at one end.

Lexa kneels down and traces over some long markings with her fingertips. ‘It looks as if these marks,’ her four fingers fit into the grooves in the black. ‘Were made by fingernails.’ The thought of someone digging in hard enough to mark the surface sends a shiver up her spine. 

‘And here,’ Octavia points to more exact markings to the right of the scraped lines. ‘I can’t read this script here.’

‘Death,’ Lexa translates for them. ‘Is only the beginning.’

//

Outside under the stars again Clarke tries her best to push away the thoughts of being buried alive, staring into the embers and wishing the sun would come back up. Octavia is on the other side of the fire sharpening the long knife she’d acquired, lost in her own haunted musings. Eager for company, Clarke doesn’t even tell Jasper to piss off when he sits down to talk to her and to stare at Octavia.

‘That’s a nice knife,’ he says to her in a quivery little voice.

Octavia looks at him like the bug he is and goes back to sharpening her blade.

The americans arrive soon after with their day’s prizes and substantial swagger. Clarke pulls her shotgun into her lap to clean it, hating their pinched little faces. 

‘So I heard you guys found yourselves a nice gooey Mummy,’ Lovejoy jokes as they sit down.

Cage laughs. ‘Maybe you can dry that sucker out and sell it for firewood,’ 

Clarke screws up her face to match their laughter with her own sarcastic version. Jasper is a jackass and laughs along.

Octavia tells them they should laugh it up, ‘You couldn’t have found anything that good,’ she says. 

One lifts up a ceramic vessel with an intricately carved lions head. ‘Well, let me put it this way. I’m just deciding whether to accept my truckload of money from the Egyptian museum, the British museum, or the New York one.’ 

Octavia questions them but Clarke can’t be bothered. The bastards opened up the statue of Anubis and found four canopic jars along with an ancient book, all worth a fortune. 

All Clarke has to show so far is nightmares involving a closing coffin lid and a few less bullets in her belt. She hopes that with a bit of luck and the old Griffin charm she might have a chance with a pretty girl too but she could always do with some more gold.

The night is creeping up her back despite the warmth of the fire and Clarke wishes Lexa was there with her. 

As if pure want could bring Clarke’s thoughts to life Lexa approaches the fire wearing an excited smile. ‘Look at what I found.’ 

Clarke feels warmer already but Jasper is still sitting beside her. ‘You’re in her seat,’ Clarke glares at Jasper as he laughs. 'No really, get up.’ Clarke lowers her tone with an edge of threat which Jasper notices after a beat, spinning to get up and away from her. He shifts to the other side of the fire to sit with Octavia, but is met with a cold glare over the top of a very sharp blade. He retreats again with a squeak that Clarke barely hears; Lexa is close enough for Clarke to see the shine in her eyes.

She’s cradling a pile of black beetle husks in both hands. ‘Scarab beetle skeletons, flesh eaters,’ she says with relish. ‘They were in with our mummy.’

Clarke huffs a laugh. ‘Gee, here I’d almost stopped thinking about being buried alive. Of course there’s flesh eating bugs.’

Lexa thumbs over the beetle skeletons so the colours shine in the light. ‘They can stay alive for years feasting on the flesh of a corpse.’

Clarke grimaces. ‘But our guy was alive when they threw them in?’ Lexa is close enough that Clarke can feel her body heat.

‘Exactly.’ Lexa lifts up the handful of beetle shells for a closer look. ‘These scarabs ate him alive. Very slowly.’ She is speaking only to Clark, her words slow and dark. Clarke likes the way Lexa looks at her.

Octavia is humming thoughtfully, thumb scraping the edge of her knife. 'Not a very popular fellow when they planted him was he.’ They’re all imagining what a man might have to do to get buried alive.

Octavia is the distraction Clarke needs to pull her mind from the gutter. But only just.

‘Must have gotten frisky with the Pharaoh’s daughter.’ Clarke smirks and just barely resists winking at Lexa who still bites her lip as she looks away. 

Clarke can’t help but feel smug when Lexa lets out a laugh. ‘Well, from what I’ve read, our friend suffered the Hum-Dai a curse reserved only for the most evil of blasphemers. What ever he did it must have been terrible. Never in all my research have I seen any record of this curse ever being performed.’

‘That bad, huh?’ Clarke wonders if the pharaohs daughter could have been as beautiful as Lexa is in the firelight.

She wants to punch herself for that thought but knows she’s a lost cause when Lexa meets her eye again.

‘They never used it because they feared it so.’ Her voice gets warmer and darker as she delves into the story. ‘It’s written that if the victim of this curse was ever resurrected, he would bring with him the ten Plagues of Egypt.’

Clarke loves seeing her like this. As fun as Lexa was full of liquor and giggles, Clarke loves passion more than anything. Passion and intelligence are her favourite traits and Lexa has them both in spades. 

 

Soon, the Americans leave for their own fires shaking off the shivers Lexa’s best story telling voice has brought on. Lexa is still looking at Clarke, her smile dimmer but still there at the edges as if she is considering something exciting. Clarke hopes that something is a kiss.

Lexa’s smile clears as she comes to some conclusion in her own mind and she leans in. Clarke freezes, her breath caught in her throat, stomach flipping over.

Lexa leans heavier against her. ‘Clarke?’

‘Yeah?’ Clarke coughs past the lump in her throat, Lexa's breath warm against the shell of her ear.

‘We should follow them back into their camp.’

‘Ah, what? That’s not what I—.’ She cuts herself off before she can say anything stupid. Lexa is wearing a playful smile, but it’s not directed at her. She’s looking out the way that the Americans left. ‘Why would we do that?’

‘I want to take a look at the book they found in the statue of Anubis.’ Lexa takes a hold of Clarke’s hand.

Octavia sighs, giving Clarke a look to say that Lexa is all hers to deal with.

‘You want the book?’

‘It could tell us more about our mummy. Aren't you curious?’

'Not really.’ Clarke wants many things. Most of them to do with Lexa's lips, and none of them involving books.

‘Where’s your sense of academic inquiry?’

‘I’m sorry I must have misplaced it back in the tomb with the flesh eating beetles.’

‘Clarke, you’ve shown me how smart you are. Don’t let your feelings get in the way now.’

If Clarke gives in to Lexa it will be precisely because of her damned feelings. 'No. Absolutely not.’ She’s firm with herself as well as Lexa, turning away from disappointed green eyes.

‘Fine,’ Lexa huffs.

'Fine.'

//

Less than an hour later, Clarke is pretending to sleep, with a gun in her arms, waiting for Lexa to either return or cry out for help. Somehow Lexa finds her way back without incident carrying the big old book—the Big Ancient Valuable Metal-encased book.

Clarke is done feigning sleep. 'That’s called stealing you know.’

Lexa tip-toes around Octavia who is sound asleep and snoring, and places the book reverently on a trunk by the fire. She spares Clarke a glance. ‘According to you and my sister it’s called  _borrowing_.’ She leans in and  _borrows_  The Key for the book’s lock from Octavia’s coat pocket.

Clarke gets up to kneel down beside her. ‘I thought the book of Amun Ra was made of gold.’

Lexa runs her fingers over the symbols etched into the metal cover. ‘The book of Amun Ra is made of gold. But this isn’t it. I believe that this is the Book of the Dead.’ She clicks open Octavia’s key so the five points fold out to match the star shaped impression on the front of the book. It’s the same shape that was on the front of the mummy’s sarcophagus. 

‘The book of the dead? You sure we want to open that?’

Lexa gives her a look which demands facts and figures, not superstition. ‘It’s just a book,’ she says fitting the key into the lock. 'No harm ever came from reading a book.’

She turns the key with a small grunt of effort that Clarke wishes she could hear under different circumstances. The mechanism releases and the big metal clasps snap back, joints all too clean for something so old. Lexa pries open the heavy cover with both hands and a rush of wind blows through the camp.

Clarke tries not to think about how often that happens. ‘So, ah what’s it say?’ 

Lexa is tracing over the etched hieroglyphics. ‘Amun ra, amun dei. It speaks of the night and of the day.’ Lexa glances up at her and Clarke feels as if Lexa is sharing something very important and a little terrifying with her.

She doesn’t know how Lexa can understand anything from the symbols in the book but she reads with confidence and a peculiar emphasis on the consonants and Clarke is very aware of the shape of Lexa’s lips and of the smooth timbre of her voice as she reads on, leaning into the rhythm of her words. Without understanding any of the phrases Clarke feels them instead like a visceral pulse.

The wind picks up again and Lexa’s words begin to sound like a chant. ‘Yatuwei yatuwei.’

‘No!’ The shout hoes across the camps making them both jump. The professor, Dante has leapt from his bed, the canopic jar he claimed still cradled under his arm. ‘You must not read from the book.’

Clarke wants to repeat Lexa’s words, that it’s just a book, but the wind is getting stronger. There’s a buzzing, like a chorus of insects and Clarke looks up as the chattering becomes a storm of sound and a dark cloud appears on the horizon. A cloud blacker than it should be and moving much too fast. 

‘Locusts.’ Octavia has woken with the noise and scrambles to her feet. 

‘Run, run. Inside,’ Clarke shouts in her panic.

She guides Lexa and Octavia ahead of her into the dark of the city underground. 

//

Lexa stumbles in the dark and grabs at Clarke’s hand before searching for Octavia’s arm. ‘It’s too dark to go on like this,’ she says.

‘It’s okay.’ Octavia pulls her arm free, there’s the sound of flint clicking together, sparks and then Octavia appears with two lit torches in hand. ‘I’ve got this.’

Lexa wants to take a moment to appreciate her sister’s ingenuity. ‘You know when you put your mind to something other than picking pockets you’re really quite brilliant. 

Octavia hands a torch off to Clarke. ‘I know.’ The sound of locusts is still getting louder so they push deeper into the tunnels. They’ve lost track of anyone else and the strange insect noise seems to be following them.

Different from the locusts but familiar to this place, there's a sound that is building to a rumble.

Suddenly, the ground swells ahead of them and bursts with swarming black.

‘Scarabs!’ 

‘Go!’ 

Lexa races ahead as best she can. Clarke throws the torch and her ears ring with gun fire. Lexa sprints out into an open cavern and up a narrow ramp, the snickering of millions of flesh-eating beetles swarming after them. There’s a steep drop either side of the path and high pedestals a few feet beyond. Ice-fear pours through Lexa’s veins.

‘Jump!’ she shouts.

She makes the leap rightward onto a carved stone shelf as Clarke and Octavia leap left, out onto a raised column. The swell of beetles pours over the path they’ve just escaped from, like a wave of terror. Lexa draws herself deeper into the stone cavity. With her pulse hammering, she doesn’t notice the rock shift behind her. Something gives and she’s falling. She yells but has nothing to hold onto and the light of the cave disappears as the trap door closes as fast as it opened. 

She tumbles through a tunnel and out into another one.

 

It’s quiet.

There’s light from the moon coming through gaps in the stone. She can’t hear any more beetles, but she isn’t alone. She recognises the outline of Cage, the American archaeologist.

‘Oh, thank goodness,’ she says approaching him. ‘We should find a way out.’

He’s still turned away and she takes a hold of his shoulder. He turns and she screams. 

‘My eyes!’ His plaintive cry is almost drowned out by Lexa’s as she sees the wet voids of Cage’s mutilated eye cavities. 

She spins away and stumbles into the dark, but there’s something moving there as well. A nightmare walks forward, the Mummy lurches from the shadows with an inhuman screech escaping from its ragged jaws. Lexa screams again, backing away from the creature.

Cage, sightless and searching trips to his knees and the scream dies in her throat. The analysis is automatic. Cage’s eyes are gone from his head and she can see two fresh human eyes in the animated corpse now walking toward her. 

She keeps moving back as the creature steps closer. Cage is groaning and crying on the ground, but he’s her only chance.

‘Please help me.’ Her voice is weak to her own ears and Cage whimpers.

The creature looks back at him. 

‘It took my tongue.’ Cage’s words are broken and slurred as he rolls over and shuffles back on his elbows in the sand, unable to see but unwilling to turn his back on the creature as he retreats.

Lexa knows it’s hopeless. She will have to help herself. No weapon, no torch, nothing even within reach, she has no idea how. The creature growls again, breath a rattled rasp though there are no lungs within the cage of his ribs.

It stares at her through stolen eyes. ‘Anuk Su Namun?’ When it speaks Lexa can see the tongue wet in its mouth. ‘Anuk Su Namun,’ it says again and Lexa it's a name.

A whimper escapes her throat as she backs into a wall. The moon is even brighter here. She can see every detail of the sunken face as its eyes seem to light with recognition. It speaks again in rapid Egyptian. ‘Come with me, Anuk Su Namun.’ 

Lexa stares at the pink tongue visible through the creatures rotten jaws.

Distantly, the sound of human voices reach her and she whimpers again, unable to form words.

Out of the dark, Clarke appears, rushing straight toward her.

‘There ya are. You never played hide and seek before?’ Clarke lets out a screech of her own as she reaches Lexa’s side and sees the monster. Her back thumps into the wall beside Lexa with her shotgun held across her chest like a shield. 

More people rush in kicking up sand. Octavia is in the lead and she fumbles her torch as she screams in surprise, her shouts not as loud or as high pitched as the American men who run in behind her.

The creature, distracted for a moment turns back to Lexa. It lets out another inhuman roar.

Clarke brings up her weapon, and opens her mouth wide to shout right back, the muscles in her neck straining as she matches the creature’s fury. When her breath finally fails, she cocks her weapon and pulls the trigger.

Lexa doesn’t need the push at her shoulder to run. The creature has been blasted to the ground and they take the moment to leave.

‘Move!’

'Run!'

‘Did you see that?’ 

‘It was walking.’

Octavia with more of the Americans and their workers follow behind them as they run through the tunnels searching for the nearest way out.

Lexa knows the way and with adrenalin still hot in her blood she holds up her skirts, grasps Clarke’s hand and leads them all out. She thinks they might just end up running all the way back to Cairo at this rate.

The pink of dawn lights the walls as the air get fresher and Lexa holds onto Clarke’s hands more firmly.

‘Nearly there—‘

 

A clatter of guns greets their exit.

The men in black have returned, blocking their way. Lexa stumbles to a halt, hands raised in the air. The historian is already kneeling at the warriors’ feet, grasping the book and jar close to his chest, his glasses have fallen askew.

The warriors leader steps forward. She’s younger than Lexa could have expected, yet she has a presence that can’t be denied,

They keep their hands high without any direction.

‘I told you to leave or die,’ the girl growls. ‘Now you may have killed us all. You idiots have released the creature that we have guarded against for thousands of years.’

Clarke relaxes her posture and lowers her arms. ‘Relax, I got him.’

The girl in black scoffs as if Clarke’s words proved her to be an imbecile. ‘No mortal weapon can kill that creature. He’s not of this world.’

She steps back and her men carry Cage through between them, saliva dribbling down his chin and fluid leaking from his empty eye sockets.

A couple of his colleagues take over the support of his body. ‘What did you bastards do to him?’

‘We saved him.’ The girl states this as fact. ‘Before the creature could finish him off. And now thanks to you, we must begin the hunt. Try to confine and destroy the creature before anyone else can be killed.’ More men and women in black appear, all streaming into the tunnels.

The girl moves to join them.

Clarke grits her teeth and Lexa resists the urge to take her hand. ‘I told you, I shot him.’

The girl’s eyes flash with anger. 'Understand me. This creature is known as the bringer of death. He won't eat. He will not sleep. He will not stop.’ Her men are pouring though the tunnels with their weapons drawn and the girl turns with them. 

‘Wait,’ Octavia steps past Lexa with one hand raised. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Whatever we can.’ The girl’s words are a solemn vow as she turns only half way to look back at Octavia.

‘Who are you?’ Octavia's is curious, but she's also scared for this girl.

‘I am not important,’ The warrior looks away from Octavia as if her regard is too strong to withstand. ‘But, if we meet again. You may call me Raven.’ She turns away in a flurry of black cloth, draws her sword and follows her men into the tunnels.

//

Thankfully the camels and horses are still there to carry them back to Cairo. The air is charged and thick with storms and Clarke is sure their time is running out.

Clarke invites herself into Lexa’s bedroom to start packing everything into the largest trunk she can find. It’s a shame she won’t get to explore the possibilities a large four poster bed could afford. Instead she’s trying to pack Lexa’s things while Lexa unpacks anything Clarke throws into the trunk.

‘We can’t just leave,’ Lexa insists.

Clarke doesn’t stop packing. ‘I thought you didn’t believe in curses.’

Lexa pulls away the skirts Clarke has just packed and throws them onto the bed. ‘Well, a close encounter does tend to make a believer out of a person.’

Clarke opens a drawer to find an array of underthings in fine fabrics. She lifts up the lot of them to dump into the trunk. ‘All the more reason to get the hell out of here.’

Lexa keeps following close behind Clarke in her pacing about. ‘We woke him up and we need to stop him.’

‘We? What we?’ Clarke is shouting now.  _‘We_  didn’t read from that book. I told you not to read that thing.’ She stops packing to point an accusing finger at Lexa. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ 

Lexa refuses to back down. ‘Okay I I I, me me me. I woke him up and i will kill him.’

Clarke can’t win. ‘You heard that girl. Raven said that no mortal weapon can harm him.’

They circle each other, around the trunk and around the room as they fight over Lexa’s things. ‘Then we will just have to find some  _IMortal_  ones.’

They’ve circled round again until Lexa and Clarke are standing on either side of the suitcase. Clarke throws a pile of books in, glaring at Lexa over the open lid. ‘And how you gonna do that?’

Lexa pushes the lid shut slamming Clarkes fingers in the suitcase. Lexa doesn’t even realise and Clarke is too fired up to care.

Lexa continues in ernest. ‘We have to figure out something. According to the inscriptions the curse won’t stop with Cairo. This creature won’t stop with Egypt or Africa. It will consume everything everywhere until the whole world is destroyed.’

‘Yeah? and is that my problem?’

‘As inhabitants of this world, it is everybody’s problem.’

‘Look, Lexa, I really appreciate you saving my life and all but when I came on board I agreed to one thing. To take you out to hamunaptra and bring you back home. And I have done that. End of job. End of story. End of Contract.’ 

‘Is that all I am to you a contract?’ Lexa’s voice is heartbreaking.

‘I— no of course not but—’ Clarke growls, frustrated. No one can survive this. ‘Look, I’m getting out of here. Now you can tag along with me. Or you can stay here and save the world. What are you gonna do? It’s your choice.’

‘I’m staying.’ Lexa’s voice is sure and confident.

Clarke feels her world shift a little as she knows for sure she won't leave Lexa’s side. ‘Fine,’ she says anyway. ‘That’s fine.’

Lexa nods as if that’s the answer she was expecting. ‘Fine.’

‘Fine.’ Clarke walks away to the door.

Lexa starts to follow but then stops herself. ‘Fine,’ she says again her voice getting higher.

‘Fine.’ Clarke has the last word as she steps out into the hallway and slams the door shut behind her.

She slaps both palms over her eyes and groans. ‘She’s going to get me killed. She saved my life and made me get all attached to her. And now she’s gonna kill me.’

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Clarke needs to figure out how to get Lexa to leave Cairo, she needs her hands to stop shaking, and she needs to calm down. She needs a drink. 

The bar is just how she’d left it before her arrest. As she approaches, familiar drunken tones make her sigh. 

‘I’m the last of the royal air corps still stationed here, you know.’ Anya is still in her uniform with smeared eyeshadow and a wicked smirk, leering at a local girl half her age.

Clarke rolls her eyes at the old sob-story. A bar, local music, local colour. Local women. Of course Anya is here. 

Anya spots her before she can get her first drink and abandons the girl to approach Clarke instead.

‘All my men were killed. Died in the sky or buried in the sand. I survived by some bastard fluke and now they’ve left me here to rot.’ She points in a direction Clarke imagines is meant to be Britain. 

Octavia nods at Clarke over her own glass of bourbon then rolls her eyes seeing Anya coming up behind her. 

‘There’s no honor in this, Griffin,’ Anya continues, her feet sloshing through the shallow fountain in front of the bar. ‘Some idiot has spilled his drink.’ She squints at the water for a second before returning her bleary gaze back to Clarke. ‘Remember when we had honor?’ She looks over her clothing, the decidedly American pistols strapped to Clarke's ribs. ‘No, I guess not.’ She huffs a laugh and claps a hand hard on Octavia’s back. ‘You know, since the end of the Great War there hasn’t been a single challenge worthy of a man like me.’

‘You’re not a man,’ Octavia points out, sharing a look with Clarke as she pours out a shot of bourbon for each of them.

‘Precisely,’ Anya says, pointing between them. ‘I should have chucked it in with the others, you know. Gone down in flame and glory instead of sitting around here rotting of boredom and booze.’

Echoing the last statement they’ve both heard Anya slur a hundred times, Clarke and Octavia clink their glasses together. 

'Cheers.' Anya steals Octavia’s shot and downs it in one, her cheeks getting darker. 

The hand on Octavia’s shoulder drifts down to a place less than wholesome. 

‘Back to the airfield!’ She spins on her heel before Octavia can squirm away. She seems almost jovial as she wanders from the bar. 

Pouring herself another bracing drink, Octavia grabs two more glasses. The American crew approaching the bar next to them are going to need it. 

Emmerson downs his first drink without a grimace. 'Bags are all packed, but the damn boat doesn’t leave until morning.' He’s just talking to fill time.

'Running away with your tails set firmly between your legs, I see Chaps.' Octavia teases them but still fills his next shot to the brim.

'Tell me how brave and English you’re feeling when you've got a walking corpse coming after you.'

Clarke pushes another shot toward the nearest man. 'How’s your friend?' 

Lovejoy accepts the drink, looking pale. 'He had his eyes and his tongue ripped out. What do you think?'

They lift another round in cheers between them. The silent prayer that they aren’t next goes up before they throw their drinks back. Clarke gags on the foul taste of iron and a spray of liquid erupts between them as every man and woman in the room loses their drink. Spitting and swearing in a mess of languages.

'Jesus,' Lovejoy wipes his mouth and looks, terrified at the colour on his hands. 'Tastes like—'

'Blood,' Clarke says and drops her glass to the bar. Every glass and bottle, every drop of liquid in the place is a brooding crimson.

'And the rivers and waters of Egypt ran red and were as blood.' Octavia recites the verse, staring about the room. Even the water flowing and bubbling by the gallon over a decorative fountain is now red, thick and stinking of iron.

'He’s here,' Clarke mutters and then runs to find Lexa.

//

Lexa can’t help but be glad when she hears Clarke calling her name. She’s walking along the edge of a courtyard. The auxiliary library she’s left has given over more information but she needs a sounding board, someone to help her work through the questions bouncing through her head. 

The sky is still dark with thunderclouds and she’s thick in a book she could take years to comprehend. Still, Clarke’s voice makes her smile. 

'Oh, so you’re still here?' She quips. Clarke doesn’t need to know what she’s thinking.

Clarke laughs sarcastically. 'Lexa, we’ve got problems.'

The sky rumbles then cracks with lightening. A wind roars to life and with a rumble, something burning falls from the sky. Clarke grabs her arm and they run towards their rooms. Screaming voices make them both flinch but there’s nothing to be done for them until the firestorm is done. 

At the stairs, a familiar skinny boy appears, stumbling down. 

'Jasper, where you been?' Clarke's voice is less than friendly as she pushes him against the wall.

An inhuman roar echoes down the stairs, following Jasper, and Lexa shudders recognising the cry of the creature. Clarke’s grip on the boy falters as she turns and he slips free to run away. 

Clarke charges ahead, gun raised, heedless of the danger. Lexa follows as best she can, skirts tangling her legs as she does; the brave idiot will get herself killed if Lexa doesn’t keep her safe. 

Finally, they reach the open door to a room their American friends have been keeping. Clarke’s gun hand jolts, and Lexa’s breath hitches when they sees Cage. His body is completely dry of fluids, bandages falling limp over eyeless sockets. He’s slumped, desiccated and certainly dead in his chair. 

A creaking, slipping sound draws Lexa’s gaze to the fireplace. The merry light of the fire a disturbing contrast to the monster, twisting and contorting in front of it. Muscles and flesh seem to appear from its bones, stretching and snapping into place, replacing the rotten flesh with new, human sinew. 

Still dead, still a monstrous walking corpse, but stronger and more complete than before. 

It turns to them as Clarke pulls out a second pistol. She shoots as it takes its first step, but it doesn’t slow. Octavia and the two Americans appear in the doorway. With bullets blasting through his new flesh, the creature raises both arms and flings Clarke into Octavia, sending them sprawling. 

Lexa steps back, unable to look away from the creature as it turns on her, the same calm expression in his shining stolen eyes as before. 

' _You saved me from the dead_ ,' he says in the Ancient Royal tongue. 

She grimaces away but is caught against the wall. He leans in, his mouth – newly formed – is close to hers, dry rotten breath ghosting over her cheek.

Somehow, a cat’s growl pulls his attention. A slinking white hotel cat walks across the room, insistent meowing cry sending the creature stumbling back. The creature roars and disintegrates into a storm of hot sand. His face, huge and terrible, is the last Lexa sees before the storm sweeps from the room, windows slamming shut behind.

Lexa looks to the ceiling as she catches her breath and tries not to vomit or cry. Still laid out on the floor, Clarke groans and gets to her feet, holstering both guns. 

She helps Octavia to her feet. 'We. Are in serious trouble.'

//

At the Museum of Antiquities, Octavia is the first to bring up the rather interesting situation between Lexa and the creature. 

'He does seem to like you, Lex.'

‘Yeah, what’s that about?’ Clarke agrees.

Lexa glares at the walls of the building as if the museum itself has brought all this trouble onto them. ‘There’s only one person I know that could possibly give us any answers.’

Following Lexa into a room marked 'Main Exhibit', the last person Clarke expects to see is Raven. All in warrior’s black she’s standing next to the museum's director, Dr Kane. Clarke’s hands go reflexively to her gun and Octavia draws her own just as fast. 

‘You!’ Lexa’s voice is dangerous.

‘Miss Woods,’ The director looks unhappy, if unsurprised to see them. ‘Miss Blake. Gentlemen,’ he nods politely.

‘What’s she doing here?’ Lexa demands, indicating Raven.

Disgruntled, Kane’s reply is dense with sarcasm. ‘Do you really want to know or would you prefer to just shoot us?’

//

Clarke only follows about half of Kane’s ridiculous explanations. 

Secret societies, guarding a secret city for a secret three thousand years. Men and a few women like Raven sworn from early adulthood to stop this _Prince Imhotep_ rising from the dead. 

Raven glares at Lexa. 'Because of you, we have failed.'

'This justifies killing innocent people?' Octavia is looking at Raven like she wants to believe the best of her. 

'To stop this creature? Of course!'

'Ah, question,' Clarke interrupts their staring. 'Why doesn’t he like cats?'

'Cats are the guardians of the underworld. He will fear them until he’s fully regenerated.'

Emmerson is pacing like a trapped animal. 'Yeah and you know how he regenerates?'

Lovejoy is the one to answer, voice edged with hysteria. 'By killing anyone who opened that chest.'

Lexa waves away their panic. The academic interest lights her eyes as much as the more sensible fear. 'When I first saw him at Hamunaptra, he called me Anuk Su Namun.'

Dr Kane and Raven share a look that cannot be good.

Lexa finally looks nervous again when she adds. 'And just before now, he tried to kiss me.'

'It was because of his love for Anck Su Namun that he was cursed. Apparently after 3000 years…' Raven starts

'He’s still in love with her.' Octavia finishes.

Lexa nods, getting more impatient and british as the conversation goes on. 'Yes, love and loss. It’s all very romantic, but what has it got to do with me?'

'Perhaps he will try again to raise her from the dead?' Kane suggests to Raven, who nods.

'And it appears he’s chosen his human sacrifice.' They look at her ominously, like she’s already late to her own funeral.

Octavia lets out a long breath. 'Bad luck, Old Mum.'

'On the contrary,' Kane says, making them all turn again to him. 'This may give us the time we need to kill the creature.' The edge of hope is lost from his voice when all light falls from the room.

'Seems we will need all the help we can get.' Raven looks up through the high windows and they all follow her gaze.

The moon is shifting fast to block out the sun in a complete solar eclipse. And the day is cast into an unnatural night. 

Once again, Octavia shares the bible verse that this fresh curse is repeating. ‘And he stretched forth his hand towards the heavens and there was darkness throughout the lands of Egypt.’

//

Raven returns with them to the hotel. She’s pacing, visibly unsettled as she drifts closer to Octavia, who sips from a new hip flask.

'We must stop him from regenerating. Who else opened that chest?' Raven looks to all of them.

'Me and Lovejoy here,' Emmerson answers. 'And Cage of course.' He adds in a solemn tone.

'And the Historian. Dante Wallace. Haven’t seen him since we got back,' Lovejoy adds. They’re both cradling tall glasses of bourbon, sharing the bottle between them.

'What about Jasper?' Lexa asks, seeing Clarke’s hands ball into fists.

'He scrammed outa there before we even opened the damn thing. He was the smart one,' Lovejoy scoffs.

'Sounds like Jasper.' Clarke stands from the chair where she had been lounging, her relaxed air evaporating.

'We must find the Historian and bring him back here.' Lexa trails her fingers over the hilt of a new knife tucked into her belt. She’s been eyeing off Octavia’s pants as well, sick of feeling defenceless.

'Right.' Clarke looks at Octavia and Raven but points directly at Lexa. ' _She_ stays here. You three, you come with me.' 

Lexa’s ire is immediately provoked. 'What, are you just going to go punch the information out of someone?'

'Maybe.' Clarke can do diplomacy, she’s actually good at it but right now she’s just going from one dangerous situation to another. That’s not a lot of time to focus on peace.

'You’re just putting yourself in danger, charging about like this.' Lexa shakes her head.

'Maybe,' Clarke says again. 'So you stay here. Everybody else…' As she turns for the door, all of them bar Raven start talking at once.

Lexa splutters, indignant. 'Clarke, if you think you can just—'

Lovejoy shakes his head. 'I’m not going anywhere—'

Emmerson just laughs. 'Not on your life, Missy. I don’t care how big your guns are, you can’t—'

Octavia’s protests are weak. 'Clarke, I really don’t think—'

Clarke turns back as Lexa rounds the table to confront her.

'You can’t just leave me behind!' Her voice rises above the other three. She makes sure of that. 'Who put you in charge, exactly?' 

Clarke has had enough. She dips down, picks Lexa up by her hips so she falls over one shoulder.

'Clarke, what do you think you are doing?'

She carries Lexa bodily into the bedroom, fists hammering into her back.

'Octavia do something!'

'Ah, I would but she’s a bit… tall.'

Lexa is light enough and Clarke strong enough that she’s dropped easily onto the bed. As Clarke turns on her heel to leave the room though, Raven blocks her path.

'You ready?' Clarks means to move past.

Raven, however shakes her head. 'You won't leave this one behind so easily.'

Lexa leaps from the bed and dashes to stand behind Raven, holding up the key she picked from Clarke’s pocket. ‘Are you done with all this lone hero foolishness Clarke, or do you need more physical persuasion?’ 

Raven grips the handle of her sword.

Clarke glares at them for a moment before her expression softens and she sighs. ‘Fine.’

‘No more foolish, overbearing heroics? Or should I leave you behind instead?’ 

Clarke’s jaw twitches before she grits out another _fine_. ‘I’m sorry, can we go now?’

Lexa resists the urge to pat Clarke on the head. 'Let’s go. Octavia, Raven?'

Octavia takes another sip from her flask. 'Oh, I thought I would just stay at the fort and—'

'Now!'

//

While Octavia joins Raven at the Museum, Lexa and Clarke start their search at Dante’s living quarters simply because they have to start somewhere. Lexa certainly, hadn’t expected the light to be on. 

The door is open and – of course – Jasper is rummaging through drawers and cupboards. When he spots them, Jasper tries to run but Clarke is quicker. She grabs the emptied draw that Jasper has just abandoned and throws it into the back of his knees. Jasper goes sprawling across the floor and Clarke stalks after him, withdrawing her pistol.

'Nice shot,' Lexa comments, following in after her.

Jasper whimpers as Clarke grabs his collar and drags him to sitting upright. She presses her gun barrel under his chin. 

'You came back from the desert with a new friend, didn’t you?' Clarke can hear the wild edge in her own voice, her worry for Lexa taking hold of her voice as much as her mind. She hopes the sound convinces Jasper she’s serious.

'What friend? You’re my only friends.'

Clarke directs him to standing and pushes him hard against the desk, scattering everything left on top of it to the floor. 'Why are you helping Prince Imhotep?' She just knows he’s helping the creature. 'What’s in it for you?'

Jasper winces. 'Why go looking for trouble? As long as I serve him, I am immune.'

'Immune from what?' She pushes his back harder against the desk

Jasper whimpers. 'I don’t want to tell you, you’ll just hurt me more.'

Lexa’s knife joins Clarke’s gun. 'Try again.' Her voice is low and dangerous. Feeling the heat of her and seeing the dark fire in her eyes, Clarke can't believe she almost left Lexa behind.

'The curse!' Jasper cries.

'And what are you looking for here?' Lexa nods at the emptied drawers and cupboards, everything strewn across the room.

'The book. The book!' Jasper babbles.

'What does he want the book for?'

'Oh come on, I don’t know.'

Clarke and Lexa share a look, both grabbing his collar and dragging him to the center of the room. A ceiling fan churns over their heads, not hard or fast enough to kill a man but enough to leave some nasty marks. With four strong hands under his collar, Jasper finds his face in close to the blades.

'No wait!' Jasper fumbles at their hands but can’t get a grip. 'It’s something about bringing his dead girlfriend back to life. That’s all. He just wants the book, I swear.' He glances at Lexa. 'And your body too. But other than that!'

She moves to thrust him toward the fan again, but then a deathly shriek goes up outside and he slips free. They aren’t fast enough to the window and Jasper throws himself through, rolling safely across stacked boxes and tables to the ground. 

Outside, the Historian, Wallace, has been found by the Creature, skin and fluids already drained. Lying on the cobbled street, Dante has been left as only dried muscle and bone. Slowly, Imhotep turns. He has clothes now, robes wrapped around fresh human skin and a nearly whole body. Still horrifying, half his face is still showing muscle and sinew. 

Leaning closer to feel Clarke’s warmth, Lexa stares horrorstruck. Below them, the creature opens his mouth wide, then wider still and an uncanny buzzing fills the air. His jaw spreads wider and wider until a swarm – a terrible cloud of black insects flow from his mouth and into the air.

Lexa slams the window shutters closed and Clarke’s hand finds hers.

//

Somehow, when they get back to the hotel they find the creature already there. Lovejoy is dead, Emmerson pressed to the wall cowering under the creature’s reach. 

Clarke raises her weapon, even knowing that’s it’s pointless. 

‘Stop,’ she shouts.

'Hey!' Octavia dashes in with Raven close behind.

The monster turns at the second voice, an almost smile touching his half formed lips. 

'Look what I found.' Octavia has found the hotel cat again, which hisses violently from her arms.

The cat yowls and the creature shrieks. Once again, Imhotep is a storm of burning sand, sweeping across the room and out the window’s shutters. 

Lexa approaches Emmerson cautiously as he gingerly stands from where he’s was slumped against the wall, tears wet on his cheeks.

'Are you alright?' She asks.

'Well I’m not sure,' Octavia answers, holding a hand over her heart. She winks at Raven causing colour to flood the warrior’s cheeks. 

Lexa rolls her eyes and Clarke allows Octavia a breathless laugh.

//

Emmerson goes with them back to the museum, looking for fresh answers.

'If the Black Book is what brought Imhotep back to life, then maybe the Gold Book of Amun Ra can kill him,' Lexa explains, leading the group inside. Octavia and Raven already know exactly where it is, but Emmerson and Clarke just have to follow. 

The stone relic on the second floor has the answer, Lexa’s sure of it. She just needs time to translate it. 

Time though, is not something they have in abundance. After only minutes with the stone the drone of Cairo’s citizens chanting the creature’s name, reaches them from outside. Through the arching museum windows, they can see hundreds of people shuffling towards them. They’re armed with torches and weapons, shining sores covering their skin.

'And last but not least,' Octavia sighs. 'My favorite plague: Boils and Sores.'

'They have become his slaves,' Raven says, as if it isn’t clear already. 'It’s started. The beginning of the end.'

'Not quite yet it hasn’t,' Lexa says, ignoring the chanting mob. 'Come on,' she mutters to herself, fingers trailing fast over lines and lines of hieroglyphs. 

Scholars and treasure seekers have been searching for this book for centuries, but she has only minutes to find the answer. 'Here! I think. Since the black book was inside the statue of Anubis then the golden book must be inside…'

'Come on Lex,' Octavia begs her to think faster.

'Patience is a virtue,' Lexa grits out through a tense smile, furiously translating the glyphs. 

'Not right now it isn’t,' Clarke says, backing up. The horde is banging on the doors now, the hinges threatening to buckle under the strain. They’ll be overwhelmed in minutes. Octavia slips away to get the car started for their escape, Raven close on her heels. 

'I’ve got it,' Lexa cries, raising her fist in triumph. 'The Golden Book of Amun Ra is at Hamunaptra inside the statue of Horus. Ha!' She laughs. 'Take that Bembrige scholars!'

//

They all pile into Dr Kane’s convertible Humber and Octavia floors the gas pedal. The mob follows, compelled by the creature.  After three blocks, Emmerson falls. Too fast for Clarke to do a damn thing, he’s grabbed from the car and lost in the swell. Even over the noise of the car and the crowd they can hear his cries and they know he’s been claimed by the monster. 

Octavia drives as fast as she can, slamming through the horde, but it isn’t enough. They crash through a stall and the humber refuses to restart again. 

'Go!' Clarke yells and pushes Lexa and the others ahead.

 

Backed into a corner, surrounded by men with unfocused eyes and sores on their faces, the creature finds them. He’s whole now. Muscle, flesh, all complete and human, though his eyes still show nothing but darkness. He speaks in the language of Ancients, and Jasper is there as his pet interpreter.

'Come with me, My Princess,' he translates Imhotep's words. 'It is time to make you mine. Forever.'

Lexa, looking all the more wild and beautiful for the horrors they’ve faced, sneers at him. 'For all eternity,' she corrects. 'Idiot.'

Jasper looks confused until Imhotep speaks again. 

'Take my hand and I will spare your friends,' Jasper parrots.

Clarke scoffs. 

'Oh dear,' Lexa says. 'You have any bright ideas?'

'I’m thinking.'

'You better think of something fast, because if he turns me into a mummy, you’re the first one I’m coming after.' She squeezes Clarke’s hand and there’s something too close to goodbye in her eyes.

Still it takes a moment for Clarke to realise that Lexa is walking away. She flinches forward, guns raised.

'No. Don’t,' Lexa warns and the creature smirks. 'He has to take me to Hamunaptra to perform the ritual,' she explains quickly. 

'She is right.' Raven places a calming hand on Clarke’s shoulder. 'Live today, fight tomorrow.'

Clarke fights for a moment, not looking away from Lexa. She doesn’t want to break eye contact. She can’t be sure she’ll ever see such colours again. Raven’s hand smooths down Clarke’s arm to her wrist and Clarke lets her pistol drop, releasing the hammer and holstering her weapon. 

Lexa gives a slight nod but all Clarke can feel is fear and anger. Raven doesn’t release her shoulder, holding her back. 

The creature turns, hand wrapped around Lexa’s arm, forcing her to follow. 'If you attack them, you attack me,' Lexa says to him but he doesn’t acknowledge her, just pulls her away faster.

'Lexa!' Clarke jolts forward again but Raven holds her back. 

Without warning Jasper dashes into their circle and reaches into Octavia’s jacket. 

'Hey that’s mine!' Octavia starts. But it’s too late. He makes off with her key, the one that opened Imhotep’s tomb, the black book, and probably the golden book too whenever they find it. 

Jasper disappears into the crowd. Imhotep shouts something – an order to his slaves. 

The horde start shuffling again, and Lexa shouts, 'No!' She struggles against his hold but it’s no use.

'No, let go of me!' Lexa cries again, but she’s already almost too far for Clarke to hear her.

Clarke shouts an incoherent sound of anger and throws her torch at the crowd, keeping them back for a few more seconds. An entry to the sewer is at their feet, and she removes the metal seal. 

'Come on,' She pushes Octavia toward the entry. She knows from experience that the tunnels are filthy but big enough to crawl through. 

'What about my sister?'

'We’re gonna get her back,' Clarke promises. She shoves Raven in after Octavia.

Imhotep’s shuffling mindless slaves won’t be able to follow them through these sewers. She drops in, slamming the gate shut behind her. 

//

 

//

A car is too slow, they need another plan. Between Cairo and the Pyramids is a British airstrip with one Royal Air Corps member still stationed.

Under the sun – finally free of the moon’s shadow – Anya is sipping from a porcelain teacup. She’s sheltered from the heat by an umbrella, a man assistant at her elbow at all times. The gramophone beside her playing something stately. The smell of bourbon, however is unmistakable, even mixed with her morning coffee. 

'So what’s your little problem got to do with His Majesty's Royal Air Corps?' Anya asks outright.

'Not a damn thing.' Clarke shakes her head, figuring honesty is her only option now.

Anya looks suitably intrigued. 'Is it dangerous?'

'Probably won’t live through it,' Octavia says with a shrug.

There’s so much hope in Anya’s voice as she sets her teacup and saucer on the table. 'Do you really think so?' It’s a little heartbreaking.

'Well, everybody else we’ve bumped into has died. Why not you?' Octavia has taken to standing close to Raven, their arms brushing not so incidentally.

'What’s the challenge then?' Anya stands straightening her jacket, insignia and medals jangling.

Clarke shrugs as if it were all quite simple. 'Rescue the damsel in distress, kill the bad guy, and save the world.'

Raven frowns and Octavia shakes her head. 'I don’t think Lexa would appreciate being called a—'

Clarke raises one hand. 'For the sake of efficiency just give me this, please?'

Octavia concedes. Lexa did lock her alone in a room with no way to defend herself, after all.

Anya laughs and holds out her arm. 'Anya Vine, at your service, Sir!'

'Sure,' Clarke takes her hand. 'But we’ve met before.'

'Only a hundred or so times. But this is the first time I’ve ever cared for what you had to say!'

//

The biplane has room enough for one pilot and one gunner. A problem only for Octavia and Raven who have to strap themselves to the wings. Anya assures them that she can get enough lift; she knows her plane better than anyone. Octavia questions the safety in this, but Raven doesn’t look worried at all, says the math is sound, and her quickly rigged harnesses will hold through anything.

'How could you know that?' 

'I’m a mechanic,' she says adjusting the row of knives on her belt. 'After a fashion. '

Octavia wants to question her further but Clarke cuts her off. 'Okay, then let’s get out of here.'

It’s a bumpy ride down the runway and Anya laughs maniacally when they finally get airborne. 

After a few miles Clarke shouts over the roar of the propeller and the wind for Octavia where she’s holding tight to the wing.

'Hey, you alright?' 

'Do I bloody well look alright?' 

Clarke decides she does, the harness fixing her to the plane’s wing is still strong. She turns to Raven who is grinning as broadly as Anya. She’s laughing into the wind, eyes wide behind her goggles. She can’t let go but she nods at Clarke, happily.

'Two o’clock,’ Anya shouts.

It takes a minute for Clarke to realise what she means. They’re back to back, Clarke holding the machine gun pointing out past the tail of the plane. She cranes around and can see it over Raven’s shoulder. A rising storm twists up from the desert floor, a swirling storm of sand with no sign of a cloud to stir it. A dust devil but a hundred times too large.

'I’ve never seen one so big,' Anya shouts, angling the plane to fly parallel to its path. 

With the years Anya’s spent on the wing, Clarke knows that can’t be a good sign. ‘Never?’

//

Lexa is flying, held up in a hot, whirling vortex of sand. She keeps her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth closed. She can hear nothing except the roar of wind and sand. She feels herself drop and lets out a shout, drops again and then the air clears and she falls, hits hot sand and rolls to a stop. Jasper whimpers and groans, lying across her. 

'Get off!' She jabs an elbow into his side.

He groans again and she kicks away from him as the fading storm coalesces once more into a man. Tall and broad shouldered, Imhotep wears a robe around his shoulders, his chest bare but for an amulet around his neck, fabric wrapped around him from waist to mid thigh. 

He looks more God than monster now. 

Jasper is still spitting sand as Lexa looks around, trying to place where they are amongst the towering dunes. Just visible through the sand is a stone city. Hamunaptra. She stumbles to her feet, unbelieving that they could have come so far so fast, despairing because Clarke would never follow fast enough. 

Just as she’s thinking the worst, she hears it. The whir of a biplane fast approaching and she can already see it. Anya Vine’s British Air Force plane is speeding toward them, four figures on board.

'Clarke,' Lexa says aloud just to feel her relief more fully. 

Striding past her, Imhotep lets out that awful inhuman cry at seeing the plane and waves his hands at the dry desert ground. The earth cracks, and brittles for hundreds of meters in front of them. Impossibly, Imhotep lifts a fresh storm of sand, hot and dense and terrifying. 

 

From the plane, Clarke spots Lexa, a rush of relief filling her chest to see her alive. Then a wall of sand rises. It builds and rages upwards until it’s a hundred stories high and then it starts to move, directed straight towards the retreating plane. 

'Anya?' Clarke calls. 'Can you pedal faster!'

Anya just laughs. 'Hang on!' 

The aircraft does speed on but the storm follows, now with the distinct planes of a face at its front. Clarke readies her guns. Futile or not, she’s not going down without a fight. She holds on as the plane dips, drops over a cliff, gaining speed until it levels out and they are traveling faster than Clarke has ever experienced. 

The storm follows, the face growing a smirk. Clarke drops the machine gun’s clip and opens fire.

 

Lexa can see the flash of bullets as whoever is on the guns fires futilely into the storm. The creature stands with his eyes closed and arms raised, feeling and directing the storm. 

'Stop it!' Lexa cries. 'You’ll kill them.'

'That’s the idea,' Jasper smirks. 

The storm has risen over the plane now, face chasing outwards with a wide mouth prepared to swallow the plane. Lexa can't let that happen. She can already see the wings drifting, no longer parallel to the ground. They’re going to crash. But Imhotep is too powerful, too strong. She’s sure if she tried to hit him he wouldn’t even feel it and her knife is in Jasper’s pocket. 

Finally an idea strikes. Regardless of the disgust it might bring her, she has to try. The plane is barely skirting the dunes now, almost lost. It's in a tailspin, it’s engines sputtering. Lexa grabs Imhotep's face in both hands and presses her lips against his. He grunts in surprise, and the roar of the storm drops off almost instantly, the sound of falling sand behind her. His hands drop to her waist and she pulls back, releasing his face and spinning to watch the plane. 

 

Clarke doesn’t know what happened but she assumes she’ll be thanking Lexa. The sand drops and they’re still airborne, Anya still laughing. 

'Keep her up, Vine!'

'Not a chance, Griffin!' The engine gives one confirming splutter and Clarke can only be glad that they’re at least right way up when the plane hits the ground with an almighty crunch.

//

 

Clarke must have lost consciousness for a moment but she can’t be sure. The wings have split from the fuselage, the nose well and truly buried in sand. Anya is barely above the surface, head dropped to her chest, unconscious but breathing. 

Raven is the first to release herself from the straps holding her to the wing. Clarke manages to lift herself from the seat, but she’s disoriented and shaky from the crash. Rather than climbing from the plane she falls, landing hard on her hip, in the shifting sand.

'I’m terribly sorry,' Octavia calls out. She’s hanging upside down from her wing, the straps twisted and the buckles unreachable. 'Maybe you could let me down if it’s not too much trouble!' The last of her words rise in a shout and Clarke can’t help but laugh, relieved that Octavia is alive enough to be indignantly British about this situation. 

'Yeah, alright,' Clarke mutters and moves to help her. She releases the buckles and Octavia drops in a heap. 

Meanwhile Raven is tinkering with the machine gun and Clarke just hopes she doesn’t hurt herself or the gun. She needn’t have worried. With a grunt, Raven disconnects the gun and lifts it away from the plane. It is a really big gun, but by the way she cradles it against her chest, Clarke feels that Raven must know how to use it.

The click of metal wakes Anya with a start. She looks around at them with a hopeful smile which turns into a scowl when she sees Clarke. 'You told me I would likely die.'

'Yeah well,' Clarke offers her arm and waits for Anya to stop glaring. 'We’ve still got a somewhat-immortal creature to kill. You could get lucky yet.' 

Anya huffs, but takes her hand. The sand underneath them shifts, they all flinch and Anya clambers out faster. They stumble away from the plane, the sand shifting and sliding beneath them and pulling the plane further and further into it. It settles finally with an angry creak of metal, just the tail still visible.

 

With nothing left to salvage, Octavia Raven Anya and Clarke turn together once more towards the lost city.

//


End file.
